ried in terror, unwinding myself from the big cape and
preparing to descend.

"'Stop there!' roared Mr. Cheesewell at me. 'Did ye s'pose I'd desert
that child?' he said to the two women. 'I'd take her home, ef I knew
where in creation 'twas.'

"'She lives at the parsonage--she's th' minister's daughter,' said one
of the women quietly.

"I sank back in my seat--oh, girls, the bitterness of that moment!--and
as well as I could for the gathering mist in my eyes, and the blinding
storm without, realized the approach to my home. But what a home-coming!

"I managed to hand back the big cape, and to thank Mr. Cheesewell, then
stumbled up the little pathway to the parsonage door, feeling every
step a misery, with all those eyes watching me; and lifting the latch, I
was at home!

"Then I fell flat in the entry, and knew nothing more till I found
myself in my own bed, with my mother's face above me; and beyond her,
there was father."

Every girl was sobbing now. No one saw Miss Anstice, with the tears
raining down her cheeks at the memory that the beautiful prosperity of
all these later years could not blot out.

"Girls, if my life was saved in the first place by that old cape, it was
saved again by one person."

"Your mother," gasped Polly Pepper, with wet, shining eyes.

"No; my mother had gone to a sick parishioner's, and father was with
her. There was no one but the children at home; the bigger boys were
away. I owe my life really to my sister Anstice."

"_Don't!_" begged Miss Anstice hoarsely, and trying to shrink away. The
circle of girls whirled around to see her clasping her slender hands
tightly together, while she kept her face turned aside.

"Oh girls," cried Miss Salisbury, with sudden energy, "if you could
only understand what that sister of mine did for me! I never can tell
you. She kept back her own fright, as the small children were so scared
when they found me lying there in the entry, for they had all been in
the woodshed picking up some kindlings, and didn't hear me come in. And
she thought at first I was dead, but she worked over me just as she
thought mother would. You see we hadn't any near neighbors, so she
couldn't call any one. And at last she piled me all over with blankets
just where I lay, for she couldn't lift me, of course, and tucked me in
tightly; and telling the children not to cry, but to watch me, she ran a
mile, or floundered rather--for the snow was now so deep--to the
doctor's h