On I went, the wind rushing and roaring through the leafless branches of the trees. I rubbed my ears with my mittens, while my feet were so numb I could hardly walk. Midway I began to fear that I should actually perish. Should I go back, or should I go on? I glanced at the mountain, with the proud consciousness that I had been to the top. “Never give up,” Mr. Kirby said. It was my duty to go to school. I had started; I would go.
I gave one glance at the marble column of the waterfall, with its sculptured ridges and diamond points, the feathery spray caught up and congealed, standing out in bold relief against the clear blue sky, more beautiful than art could ever hope to imitate. It was worth a great effort to look upon such a winter picture and I sprang forward with renewed energy, trying to forget my numbed feet and frozen fingers.
It was harder than I had imagined, however. All the tales I have since read of suffering on account of cold, seem only a dim outline of what I then experienced. As I left the hollow I met Philip Allen with his wood-sled. He had a small load, and was going home as fast as he could goad on his oxen.
“I never saw such a day as this,” said Philip; “you had better get on to the sled.”
“I should freeze standing still,” I answered. “I must go on now;” and I began to feel sorry that I had started. It was indeed a terrible day. My father had fallen in the snow. What if it should be my fate too?
“Never give up,” said I to myself, and I felt that I should like to have Mr. Kirby know that I was trying. At length I became aware of a new sensation stealing over me: it was with difficulty I could put one foot before the other; the beauty was fading out of the sky; I only wished to lie down in the snow. I forgot that I was going to school; strange shapes floated round me, while strains of sweet music soothed and quieted me. I was no longer cold, but, lapped in a delicious dream, seemed to be floating towards a palace of dazzling splendor.
The next that I remember, I was in a nice warm room. It was not the school-room, although Mr. and Mrs. Harlan stood beside me. My coat was off, and the good woman was rubbing my hands in her own. Then I saw there were others present, and that not only my hands, but my whole body had been rubbed vigorously. I was suffering a terrible stinging pain.
“Drink this,” said Mrs. Harlan, as a bowl of hot tea was handed me; “it will help you to get warm.” More to please her than from any other feeling, I drained it off, and ere long felt a genial glow through all my members.
Seeing that the danger was over, Mr. Harlan went to the school-room; and at noon all the boys and some of the girls crowded around me. Such a crying and shaking of hands! And then I learned how near to death I had come.
Jerry, the Irish man of all work, had seen me stagger along, and finally fall. His kind Irish heart told him at once it was the cold, and springing down the road, he carried me in his arms to the kitchen, from which Mrs. Harlan had me taken at once to her own room.