"'You are right, Peter, something bad has happened!' said my grandfather, examining the home. 'I am afraid this means wolves! We must raise the neighbors at once and go out to look for the poor children. Run and ring the mill bell as hard as you can, while I saddle the horses.'"
"The jingling bell soon called together all the men of the settlement. Horses were brought out, guns loaded, and torches lighted, and they set out to look for us with but little hope of finding us alive."
"Trembling and exhausted, we were helped down from our perch. But we were both too weak to sit on horseback, and the men were obliged to construct litters to carry us home. Seeing Carry laid upon hers was the last thing I remembered for many days."
"The Christmas service took place, and was well attended, but neither Carry nor myself were among the congregation. I was laid up with a fever and as crazy as a loon, as they say, for three weeks. When I recovered, they told me that I had acted over again all the scenes I had passed through, sometimes whipping the horse, and then encouraging Carry or singing hymns and chants. I was very weak and unwell all the rest of the winter, and quite unable to work, so I had plenty of time to think; and, I trust, my thinking was to good purpose."
"From that time forward we had service and preaching every two weeks in the schoolhouse. The next spring my grandfather built a neat little church, and the Bishop paid us a visit. Carry and I were among the persons confirmed, and I trust we have been able to lead the rest of our lives according to that beginning. Carry had a terrible cold and lost her voice, so that she was never able to sing afterwards. And that, children, was the very longest Christmas eve I ever spent in my life."
[CHAPTER III.]
THE OLD LADY'S STORY.
"BUT you had a pretty good Christmas tree, sir, after all," remarked Herbert.