The closest house was the artist’s own cabin in the woods. Plunging through the big drifts, the girl pounded on the door.
Almost at once it was opened by a middle-aged woman with graying hair and alert, blue eyes. Seeing the girl’s rumpled hair and snow-caked skiing suit, she immediately understood that something was wrong.
“You’re Mrs. Eckenrod?” Penny gasped.
“Yes, I am. What has happened?”
“Your husband has had a bad fall and his leg may be broken! We’ll need a rope and a sled.”
Mrs. Eckenrod won Penny’s admiration by the cool manner with which she accepted the bad news. After the first quick intake of breath, she listened attentively as Penny told her what had happened.
“You’ll find a long rope in the shed,” she directed.
“And a sled?”
“The only one we have is a very small one my grandchildren use when they come here to play. It will have to do. You’ll find it in the shed too. While you’re getting the things, I’ll telephone a doctor to come right out!”
“We’ll need a man to help us!”