Enoch was waiting in the next room. He was glad to hear the children were doing so well; but he did not say so, and hurried away with a cross face, as if he had already wasted a great deal of time.
“Call at Mrs. Parlin’s without fail,” said Mrs. Harris, “or else at the school-house.”
“It’s a good two miles to either place,” grumbled Enoch; “and it isn’t exactly summer weather, you’d better believe.”
“O, but their folks must be told where they are!” persisted Mrs. Harris. “Do go—there’s a good boy! I’ve nobody but girls, and can’t send!”
Enoch slammed the door after him, leaving kind Mrs. Harris in a fever of uncertainty whether he meant to go to Mr. Parlin’s or not.
CHAPTER IX.
A LONG NIGHT.
Mr. Parlin found it very hard to push his way through the drifts, with the storm beating on all sides, and every snow-flake pricking like a needle. He thought of Ben Penny, and was almost afraid the sick lad would perish. It seemed to make very little difference which direction he took, since one was as likely to be right as another. As he was going down Congress Street, some one touched his arm.
“Look here, sir; be you Mr. Parlin?”