ht at Freeling, and of
which they had eaten very little.

"Tell me how smart I am, Nan Sherwood!" she cried. "Wish we had a cup of
coffee apiece."

At that very moment the porter and conductor entered the car with a
steaming can of the very comforting fluid Bess had just mentioned. The
porter distributed waxed paper cups from the water cooler for each
passenger's use and the conductor judiciously poured the cups half full
of coffee.

"You two girls are very lucky," he said, when he saw what was in the
lunch-box. "Take care of your food supply. No knowing when we'll get out
of this drift."

"Why, mercy!" ejaculated Bess. "I don't know that I care to live for long
on stale sandwiches and pie, washed down by the most miserable coffee I
ever tasted."

"Well, I suppose it's better to live on this sort of food than to die on
no food at all," Nan said, laughing.

It seemed to be all a joke at first. There were only a few people in the
Pullman, and everybody was cheerful and inclined to take the matter
pleasantly. Being snow-bound in a train was such a novel experience that
no unhappy phase of the situation deeply impressed any of the
passengers' minds.

Breakfast was meagre, it was true. The "candy butcher," who sold popcorn
and sandwiches as well, was bought out at an exorbitant price by two
traveling men, who distributed what they had secured with liberal hand.
Bess, more cautious than usual, hid the remains of her lunch and told Nan
that it was "buried treasure."

"Castaways ought to find treasure buried on their island to make it
really interesting," she told her chum. "Think of poor Robinson Crusoe
and his man Friday. Wouldn't they have been just tickled to death to have
found anything like this for their Sunday dinner, say?"

"I don't believe Friday would have cared much about railroad lunch apple
pies," said Nan. "One's palate has to become accustomed to such
delicacies."

"Now, don't be critical, Nan Sherwood, or I sha'n't give you any more
pie," cried Bess. "B-r-r-r! isn't it cold in here?"

"We really ought to speak to the janitor about it," said Nan, demurely.
"He isn't giving us enough steam. I shall move into another apartment
before next winter if they can't heat this one any better."

They whiled away the morning in conversation and reading. They had to
sit with their furs on. Nan looked like a little Esquimaux in hers, for
her Uncle Henry Sherwood had bought them for her to wear in the Big
Wood