n'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.

"She looked at me with her terrible pleading eyes and did not say
anything.

"'What are you?' says I. Then she went away. She did not seem to run
or walk like other children. She flitted, like one of those little
filmy white butterflies, that don't seem like real ones they are so
light, and move as if they had no weight. But she looked back from the
head of the stairs. 'I can't find my mother,' said she, and I never
heard such a voice.

"'Who is your mother?' says I, but she was gone.

"Well, I thought for a moment I should faint away. The room got dark
and I heard a singing in my ears. Then I flung my coat onto the bed.
My hands were as cold as ice from holding it, and I stood in my door,
and called first Mrs. Bird and then Mrs. Dennison. I didn't dare go
down over the stairs where that had gone. It seemed to me I should go
mad if I didn't see somebody or something like other folks on the face
of the earth. I thought I should never make anybody hear, but I could
hear them stepping about downstairs, and I could smell biscuits baking
for supper. Somehow the smell of those biscuits seemed the only
natural thing left to keep me in my right mind. I didn't dare go over
those stairs. I just stood there and called, and finally I heard the
entry door open and Mrs. Bird called back:

"'What is it? Did you call, Miss Arms?'

"'Come up here; come up here as quick as you can, both of you,' I
screamed ou