“In a short time ye’d been dead in the snow,” declared the woman, bluntly. “And ye can thank yer stars I found ye. Yis, indeed. Yer friends will doubtless thank me, too,” and she spoke grimly.
Dorothy was remembering more clearly now. She had heard the woman say something about being paid for taking care of her—she could easily believe that Mrs. Hogan would do no kindness save through a mercenary motive.
“Do you suppose I can get back to school to-night, Mrs. Hogan?” she asked, rather timidly.
“And in this stor-r-rm, is it?”
“But Mrs. Pangborn will be worried.”
“Who’s she—the head teacher, is it? Well! Now, do yez think yez could find yer way alone, Miss?”
“Oh, I am afraid not,” admitted Dorothy, looking at the snow banking against the windows of the farmhouse kitchen.
“Nor ye couldn’t walk it, not even if I went with ye?”
“Oh, Mrs. Hogan! You wouldn’t attempt such a thing?”
The grenadier shook herself. She was more than six feet tall, and her shoulders were wide and her arms long. She was really a giantess.