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The Green Satin Gown by Laura Elizabeth Howe Richards
page 83 of 106 (78%)
opened only to close behind her. On she struggled, unrolling her
twine as she went.

The child's cry sounded louder, and she took fresh heart. Pausing,
she clapped her hand to her mouth repeatedly, uttering a shrill,
long call. It was the Indian whoop, which her father had taught her
in their woodland rambles at home.

The childish wail stopped; she repeated the cry louder and longer;
then shouted, at the top of her lungs, "Hold on! Help is coming!"

Again and again the wind buffeted her, and forced her backward a
step or two; but she lowered her head, and wrapped her arms more
tightly about her body, and plodded on.

Once she fell, stumbling over a stump; twice she ran against a tree,
for the white darkness was absolutely blinding, and she saw nothing,
felt nothing but snow, snow. At last her snow-shoe struck something
hard. She stretched out her hands--it was the stone wall. And now,
as she crept along beside it, the child's wail broke out again close
at hand.

"Mother! O mother! mother!"

The girl's heart beat fast.

"Where are you?" she cried. At the same moment she stumbled against
something soft. A mound of snow, was it? No! for it moved. It moved
and cried, and little hands clutched her dress.

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