“‘He gave his angels a charger of, concerning thee.’
“I don’t know what she means by an ‘angel a charger of.’ P’r’aps ’twill be Solly Rosenbug, she means; but she don’t know how he looks, or she wouldn’t call him an angel!”
It was a long night to Dotty. For the endless space of two hours she lay sad and homesick, thinking how dreary it was without her mother. In the morning the storm was past; but the wind, which had not slept a wink all night, started up as fresh as ever. When Dotty looked out of the window, there lay the world, all dead and buried, nothing to be seen but mounds of snow.
“The streets are gone,” said Dotty, “and everything else. You could ride top o’ the houses, and not know the difference. The trees look as if they were sound asleep and being rocked, with their night-caps on. Horses sleep standing up; so do trees, too.”
“My mother didn’t sleep,” said Tate. “I know she must a’ laid awake and cried. She can’t eat a speck o’ breakfast, and Nancy’ll bring her some toast in bed.”
“My mamma never eats in bed,” said Dotty; “she doesn’t think it’s proper; but she’ll look paler’n your mother does, for I’m her youngest child!”
“Did you think my mother didn’t love me as well as she did Tid?” asked Tate, in an injured tone, tracing a little rivulet with her finger-nail on the frosted pane.
“O, dear! I don’t care how much she loves you, Tate, if my father’d only come and take me home.”
“Cheer up, children,” said Mrs. Harris; “he’ll be here soon; just as soon as the men can cut a road through the drifts. Now come and eat your breakfasts, dears.”
“She heard what you said, Tate Penny! You always talk so loud!” whispered Dotty.