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Page 58
"Well, I went there in September. I begun my school the first
Monday. I remember it was a real cold fall, there was a frost the
middle of September, and I had to put on my winter coat. I
remember when I came home that night (let me see, I began school on
a Monday, and that was two weeks from the next Thursday), I took
off my coat downstairs and laid it on the table in the front entry.
It was a real nice coat--heavy black broadcloth trimmed with fur; I
had had it the winter before. Mrs. Bird called after me as I went
upstairs that I ought not to leave it in the front entry for fear
somebody might come in and take it, but I only laughed and called
back to her that I wasn't afraid. I never was much afraid of
burglars.
"Well, though it was hardly the middle of September, it was a real
cold night. I remember my room faced west, and the sun was getting
low, and the sky was a pale yellow and purple, just as you see it
sometimes in the winter when there is going to be a cold snap. I
rather think that was the night the frost came the first time. I
know Mrs. Dennison covered up some flowers she had in the front
yard, anyhow. I remember looking out and seeing an old green plaid
shawl of hers over the verbena bed. There was a fire in my little
wood-stove. Mrs. Bird made it, I know. She was a real motherly
sort of woman; she always seemed to be the happiest when she was
doing something to make other folks happy and comfortable. Mrs.
Dennison told me she had always been so. She said she had coddled
her husband within an inch of his life. 'It's lucky Abby never had
any children,' she said, 'for she would have spoilt them.'
"Well, that night I sat down beside my nice little fire and ate an
apple. There was a plate of nice apples on my table. Mrs. Bird
put them there. I was always very fond of apples. Well, I sat
down and ate an apple, and was having a beautiful time, and
thinking how lucky I was to have got board in such a place with
such nice folks, when I heard a queer little sound at my door. It
was such a little hesitating sort of sound that it sounded more
like a fumble than a knock, as if some one very timid, with very
little hands, was feeling along the door, not quite daring to
knock. For a minute I thought it was a mouse. But I waited and it
came again, and then I made up my mind it was a knock, but a very
little scared one, so I said, 'Come in.'
"But nobody came in, and then presently I heard the knock again.
Then I got up and opened the door, thinking it was very queer, and
I had a frightened feeling without knowing why.
"Well, I opened the door, and the first thing I noticed was a
draught of cold air, as if the front door downstairs was open, but
there was a strange close smell about the cold draught. It smelled
more like a cellar that had been shut up for years, than out-of-
doors. Then I saw something. I saw my coat first. The thing that
held it was so small that I couldn't see much of anything else.
Then I saw a little white face with eyes so scared and wishful that
they seemed as if they might eat a hole in anybody's heart. It was
a dreadful little face, with something about it which made it
different from any other face on earth, but it was so pitiful that
somehow it did away a good deal with the dreadfulness. And there
were two little hands spotted purple with the cold, holding up my
winter coat, and a strange little far-away voice said: 'I can't
find my mother.'
"'For Heaven's sake,' I said, 'who are you?'
"Then the little voice said again: 'I can't find my mother.'
"All the time I could smell the cold and I saw that it was about
the child; that cold was clinging to her as if she had come out of
some deadly cold place. Well, I took my coat, I did not know what
else to do, and the cold was clinging to that. It was as cold as
if it had come off ice. When I had the coat I could see the child
more plainly. She was dressed in one little white garment made
very simply. It was a nightgown, only very long, quite covering
her feet, and I could see dimly through it her little thin body
mottled purple with the cold. Her face did not look so cold; that
was a clear waxen white. Her hair was dark, but it looked as if it
might be dark only because it was so damp, almost wet, and might
really be light hair. It clung very close to her forehead, which
was round and white. She would have been very beautiful if she had
not been so dreadful.
"'Who are you?' says I again, looking at her.
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