CHAPTER X
AT THE CASTLE OF THE OGRESS
There was a buzzing in Dorothy’s ears; it seemed as though she could not be herself, but must be somebody else. “Herself” was still out in that dreadful snowstorm—sinking to a fatal sleep in the soft drifts.
Yet all the time she heard—distantly, but sufficiently distinct—the clatter of Mrs. Ann Hogan’s tongue, and the gasping, interrupted speech of little Celia Moran. At first Dorothy thought her rescue must be a dream.
“Take off her shoes—do ye hear me, ye little nuisance?” commanded the big woman. “Sure, ’tis jest about done for, she is. Cely! Cely Moran! did ye bring the eggs as I told ye?”
“Oh, dear, me, Mrs. Hogan,” said the little girl. “I was that scared——”
“Thim eggs!” exclaimed the woman. “Where be they?”
“I dropped the basket when I heard the lady holler——”
“Go for thim! They’ll be froze in another minnit—an’ eggs fawty-two cints th’ dozen at the store! Mind, now! if ye’ve broke thim, I’ll wallop ye.”
Dorothy knew that the door was opened again, for a blast of cold wind came in. But she could not open her eyes. The lids were too heavy. Mrs. Hogan was rubbing her hand’s between her own—which were as rough as nutmeg graters!