Lottie had an idea in her mind. She had had it for a long time, and now that the cove was solidly frozen over, she could put it into execution. Her pretty fancy of the echo living in the spruce wood over yonder had never been explained away. She firmly believed in the existence of some sprite who shouted to her in gentle mockery when she called to him from this side of the cove.
“He-a! he-a! he-a!” she shrilled, standing in the softly falling snow, and facing the wooded point which was now but a hazy outline.
“’Y-a! ’y-a! ’y-a!” The echo came flatly across the cove. It did not sound as it usually did. “I declare! do you suppose something is the matter with my echo?” queried Lottie, aloud.
She shouted again. The reply was quite as slow in returning, and the sound quite as flat.
“I’m going to see what the matter is with my echo,” murmured the child, and she set forth from the shore on the snow-covered ice. The storm was coming from behind her, and she had no idea how swiftly the snow was gathering, or how hard the wind blew until she was in the middle of the cove.
Even then Lottie was not greatly disturbed. A snowstorm was fun. And she was going to find her echo, and they would play together!
So she went on, the storm beating upon her back. Unfortunately, the direction of the wind was not toward the wooded point for which she had started. She drifted before it, and it drove her steadily and surely out upon the open lake.
The cove was solidly frozen over; but the lake ice had been broken by the weight of former snows, and there were open spots in it, perilous indeed for the unguided feet of the little girl.
Up on the heights the strength of the coming blizzard had been marked earlier in the afternoon. Nelson Haley had sent the smaller children home at two o’clock. By three, when the others were released, it was already growing dark and the poultry had sought their roosts.
The snow was falling heavily as he made his way toward Mrs. Beasely’s cottage. He saw Miss ’Rill’s anxious face at the store door.