I am going, of course."

Passing by Massachusetts, who had started out of her usual calm and
stood in some perplexity, she whispered, "If it were freezing, it
wouldn't cry. I shall be in time. Get a ball of stout twine."

She disappeared. In three minutes she returned, dressed in her
blanket coat, reaching half-way below her knees, scarlet leggings
and gaily wrought moccasins; on her head a fur cap, with a band of
sea-otter fur projecting over her eyes. In her hand she held a pair
of snow-shoes. She had had no opportunity to wear her snow-shoeing
suit all winter, and she was quite delighted.

"My child!" said Miss Wayland, faintly. "How can I let you go? My
duty to your parents--what are those strange things, and what use
are you going to make of them?"

By way of answer Maine slipped her feet into the snow-shoes, and,
with Massachusetts' aid, quickly fastened the thongs.

"The twine!" she said. "Yes, that will do; plenty of it. Tie it to
the door-handle, square knot, so! I'm all right, dear; don't worry."
Like a flash the girl was gone out into the howling night.

Miss Wayland wrung her hands and wept, and most of the girls wept
with her. Virginia, who was curled up in a corner, really sick with
fright, beckoned to Massachusetts.

"Is there any chance of her coming back alive?" she asked, in a
whisper. "I wish I had made up with her. But we may all die in this