The girl tossed up her arms in a silent ecstasy, and Pierre caught the small cold hands and saw that she was only a child of twelve or fourteen, lovely as only a child can be, and still more beautiful with the wild storm sweeping over her and the waste of snow around them.
He crouched lower still, and when he did so the strength of the wind against his face decreased wonderfully, for the sharp angle of the hill's declivity protected them. Seeing him kneel there, helpless with wonder, she cried out with a little wail: "Help me—the tree—help me!" And, bursting into a passion of sobbing, she tugged her hands from his and covered her face.
Pierre placed his shoulder under the trunk and lifted till the muscles of his back snapped and cracked. He could not budge the weight; he could not even send a tremor through the mass of wood; He dropped back beside her with a groan. He felt her eyes upon him; she had ceased her sobs, and looked steadily, gravely, into his face.
It would have been easy for him to meet that look on the morning of this day, but after that night's work in Morgantown he had to brace his nerve mightily to withstand it.
She said: "You can't budge the tree?"
"Yes—in a minute; I will try again."
"You'll only hurt yourself for nothing. I saw how you strained at it."
The greatest miracle he had ever seen was her calm. Her eyes were wide and sorrowful indeed, but she was almost smiling up to him.
After a while he was able to say, in a faint, small voice: "Are you very cold?"
She answered: "I'm not afraid. But if you stay longer with me, you may freeze. The snow and even the tree help to keep me almost warm; but you will freeze. Go for help; hurry, and if you can, send it back to me."