“Wait a minute!” suddenly cried Bert, as there came a lull in the blast of wind. “I think I see something—a cabin or a house.”
“Maybe it’s our cabin,” suggested Nan, “though I don’t remember any of the trees around here. There aren’t any cut down here as there are in camp.”
“Well, I see something, anyhow,” and Bert pointed to the left, off through the driving flakes. “Let’s go there, Nan.”
Through the storm the children struggled, hand in hand. They reached a log cabin—a lonely log cabin it was, standing all by itself in the midst of a little clearing in the woods.
“This isn’t our camp, Bert!” said Nan.
“No,” the boy admitted. “But somebody lives here. I see smoke coming from the chimney. I’m going to knock.”
With chilled fingers Bert pounded on the cabin door.
“Who’s there?” asked a woman’s voice above the racket of the storm.
“Two of the Bobbsey twins!” answered Nan, not stopping to think that everyone might not know her and her brother by this name.
“Please let us in!” begged Bert. “We’re from Cedar Camp! Who are you?”