celebration that I have heard about was
even more strange than Lottie's, though several people took part in
getting it up. It took place in a baggage-car," went on Mrs. Crawford.

"In a baggage-car?" said Kristy.

"Yes; attached to a train that was snowed up in Minnesota one winter.
It was the time that Ethel Jervis was ill,--you remember,--and her
mother took her to Minnesota for her health."

"She took Harry, too, didn't she?" asked Kristy.

"Yes; she couldn't leave him very well, so he was with them."

"Tell me about it!" said Kristy.

CHAPTER XIII

CHRISTMAS IN A BAGGAGE-CAR

Mrs. Jervis and her two children, Ethel and Harry, were on their way
to spend Christmas with the grandmother, who lived in a small town in
Minnesota, three or four hours' journey from Minneapolis, where they
were spending the winter. There had been a good deal of snow, but they
did not think much about it, for they were not used to Minnesota
snowstorms.

It was getting late in the afternoon, and they were tired and anxious
to reach B----before night, when the train--after a good deal of
puffing, and backing, and jerking forward and back--stopped short.

Several of the men went out to see what was the matter. Soon they
began to come back, and one, whose seat was next to Mrs. Jervis, said,
as he took his seat, "It doesn't look much like getting to B----
to-night."

"What is the trouble?" asked Mrs. Jervis.

"Tremendous drifts in the cut," answered Mr. Camp. "Snow falling
faster than ever, and wind piling it up faster than a thousand men
could shovel it out. This cut is a regular snow-trap."

"Can't the engine plow through?" asked Mrs. Jervis anxiously.

"That's what has been tried," said the man; "but the snow is higher
than the smokestack, and packed so tight it's almost solid. We may be
here a week, for all I see, unless the storm holds up and we get
help."

"Oh, mother!" wailed Ethel, "shan't we get to grandmother's for
Christmas?"

"I hope so, Ethel!" said Mrs. Jervis soothingly. "It's three days to
Christmas, you know, and a good deal may happen in three days.
Couldn't we go back?" she asked her neighbor. "If we could get back to
Minneapolis it would be better than staying here," and she glanced
anxiously at her daughter, whose wide, staring eyes were fixed on Mr.
Camp, as if he held her fate in his hands.

"They tried a while ago, you remember," he said; "but the cut we
passed through a mile back is now as ba