“Yes,” said the hunter, “I know it is.”
“The snow is very deep, and it is drifting more and more,” said his wife. “It will be entirely dark before you get home, and you will lose your way, and perish in the snow.”
The hunter did not say any thing. He knew very well that there would be great danger in going out on such a night.
“You will get lost in the snow, and die,” continued his wife, “if you attempt to go.”
A hard alternative.
“And baby will die, perhaps, if I stay at home,” said the hunter.
The hunter’s wife was in a state of great perplexity and distress. It was hard to decide between the life of her husband and that of her child. While the parents were hesitating and looking into the cradle, the babe opened its eyes, and, seeing its father and mother there, tried to put out its little hands to them as if for help, but finding itself too weak to hold them up, it let them drop again, and began to cry.
“Poor little thing!” said the hunter. “I’ll go—I’ll go.”
The mother made no more objection. She could not resist the mute appeal of the poor helpless babe. So she brought her husband his coat and cap, and forced her reluctant mind to consent to his going.
It was strange, was it not, that she should be willing to risk the life of her husband, who was all the world to her, whose labor was her life, whose strength was her protection, whose companionship was her solace and support, for the sake of that helpless and useless baby?