“I expect she was afraid you would not like it,” observed Dorothy, quietly. “It was not Celia’s fault. I spoke to her myself. No, Mrs. Hogan! never mind rubbing my feet any more. Thank you. They will be quite warm in a minute.”
Somehow she did not want the great, coarse woman to touch her.
“Well, now,” said Mrs. Hogan, rising to her feet, and standing with her hands on her hips and her arms akimbo, “well, now, will ye be tellin’ me where ye come from, young leddy?”
“From Glenwood Hall school. I am Dorothy Dale.”
“Indade! And do they know where ye be?”
“Why, I didn’t know myself where I was until I heard Celia’s voice,” declared Dorothy. “She told me she was going to live with you. But—but I don’t really know the situation of this farm, Mrs. Hogan. You see, I got lost in the woods, and in the storm. It came on to snow so fast and so suddenly.”
“Yis—I see,” grunted Mrs. Hogan. “I kin tell ye how far ye air from the highway. ’Tis eight mile, if it’s a step.”
“Oh, dear! I must have been wandering farther and farther away from the highway all the time.”
“Thrue for ye! Well, ye want to retur-r-rn, I make no doubt—as soon as ye can?”
“Yes, indeed,” said the girl, quickly. “I am getting nice and warm. It was silly of me to almost lose consciousness——”