Thankful did not attempt to wake her. Instead she
tiptoed to the kitchen and the woodbox, took from the latter the last
few slabs of pine wood and, returning, filled the stove to the top. Then
she sat down in the chair once more.
For some time she sat there, her hands folded in her lap. Occasionally
she glanced about the room and her lips moved as if she were talking to
herself. Then she rose and peered out of the window. Rain and blackness
and storm were without, but nothing else. She returned to the sofa and
stood looking down at the sleeper. Emily stirred a little and shivered.
That shiver helped to strengthen the fears in Mrs. Barnes' mind. The
girl was not strong. She had come home from her school duties almost
worn out. A trip such as this had been was enough to upset even the most
robust constitution. She was wet and cold. Sleeping in wet clothes was
almost sure to bring on the dreaded pneumonia. If only there might be
something in that house, something dry and warm with which to cover her.
"Emily," said Thankful, in a low tone. "Emily."
The sleeper did not stir. Mrs. Barnes took up the lantern. Its flame was
much less bright than it had been and the wick sputtered. She held the
lantern to her ear and shook it gently. The feeble "swash" that answered
the shake was not reassuring. The oil was almost gone.
Plainly if exploring of those upper rooms was to be done it must be done
at once. With one more glance at the occupant of the sofa Mrs.
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