Here Betsy, no longer willing to be kept in the background, told of Barbara’s desire to slide down a cellar door, once again, as she had in the days of her childhood and of the resulting mishap.
“Of course we should have gone right back then,” Margaret began hesitatingly, “but—but—well, we didn’t.”
To the surprise of the five intruders, the girl, to whom they were endeavoring to apologize, flashed at them a radiant smile which was like sunshine bursting through a thunder cloud. “I’m powerfully glad you did intrude,” she said inconsistently. “I’ve been just ever and ever so eager to see some girls from the seminary. My mother and her sister used to go there when they were young and she often tells me about the good times they had. Mother went up to the seminary the year before she was married. That was when Mrs. Martin first started her school. But don’t stand out here in this cold hall. Come in by the fire. Mother-mine will be so glad to meet you.”
“And we will be glad to know your mother, but right at this very minute we ought to be hurrying back to the school. I’m so afraid that Micky O’Brien thinks that we must have returned some other way and that he has gone on without us,” Virginia explained.
Nor were they wrong, for the faithful Micky had delayed in front of the wood as long as he possibly could. His father turned often to beckon him to make haste, and when at last he obeyed. Mr. O’Brien shouted, “Aren’t ye after seein’ the storm clouds gatherin’? Snow’ll be fallin’ so thick, come any minute, the hosses won’t be seein’ to kape on the road even.”
Poor Micky had promised Betsy that he would tell no one, but the other girls in his sleigh were curious until one of their number said, “Why worry about them? Virginia Davis and Margaret Selover were with them. They’re both on the Honor Roll and so, of course, they had permission to do whatever it was that they did. My theory is that they decided to hike back to the school. We will probably find them there waiting for us.”
Micky overheard this conversation and how he did hope that it was true. Following his father’s lead, he urged his horses to a gallop, hoping that they would reach the seminary before the storm broke over them. It grew momentarily darker as the clouds lowered above them and the horses lagged as they drew their heavy loads up the gradual slope of the hill road. They were just turning in between the gates of the school drive when the snow began to fall. Faster and faster, thicker and thicker the big flakes rushed, hiding everything that was a few feet in front of the bus. Even the seminary did not loom up until they were nearly upon it.
Poor Micky knew not what to do. He, of course, was obliged to go to the stables with his team after the girls had been let out under the sheltering portico at the wide front porch. Luckily his father had made quick work of unharnessing and feeding his team, and he was in the warm rooms above the stable when Micky drove into the barn. The lad had lingered in front of the school as long as he could, hoping that Betsy or Babs would appear to assure him that they had reached home in safety, but they had not.
He was just wondering if he dared go into the kitchen and ask Delia, one of the maids who was kind to him, to obtain the information he desired, when he saw, through the storm, the figure of a girl wrapped in a long cloak and hood, hurrying toward the barn. It was Dicky Taylor. When she stepped within the light of the lantern, the boy saw that her startled eyes looked out of a face as white as the snow. “What is’t?” he whispered hoarsely. “Ain’t they come yet, Mis’ Clossen or the rest of them?”
Dicky shook her head. “No, I’m sure they haven’t. I was curious about it and so I went to their rooms just as soon as I reached the school, before I took off my cloak, but not one of them is to be found. I can’t bear to tell Mrs. Martin, for, if I do, Virginia and Margaret might lose their places on the Honor Roll. Is there any way for us to get them before supper, Micky? They won’t be missed until then.”