“Lend a pair of them! Which door will I try?”
“Front. The back one’s blocked. Hurry up, please. Have you any tools? Bring everything!”
“Quite a contract!” ejaculated John, closing the window and brushing the snow from his head and shoulders. “But it’s a good thing I always keep a ‘kit’ handy here at home. Now, lads, you all get to work, too. There are some pieces of boards in the cellar. Take them and nail a sort of snow shovel together. Never mind if it’s a bit rough, it’ll be easier than clearing off the whole mass of snow with common spades or brooms. If you don’t know how, ask mother. She’s as handy as a master mechanic, any day. Then pitch in on our own front steps. Make a path for misery to enter, if need be, and for comfort to go out.”
“What do you mean, father?” asked Molly.
“Some poor creature might be floundering along outside, chilled and discouraged, and a ready-made path to a warm house would be tempting. Over the same road out, mother’s coffee and flapjacks can pass!”
“Flapjacks? That’s the first I heard about them,” said Mrs. Johns, smiling.
“Chance of your life to make yourself famous to-day,” answered her husband. “You may believe that any poor wretch who tastes your cakes and coffee, this terrible day, will never forget them. And, lads, after you’ve cut a way to our own door go and help that widow across the street who keeps the boarders. She has a hard time of it, any way, and it’s part of her business to keep things comfortable for those who live with her.”
“She wouldn’t give us a cent, if we shovelled at her sidewalk all day,” grumbled Joseph.
“The other side the bed, lad! Quickly!” ordered the father, pausing on his way to the door to see his command obeyed.