nd while
they became absorbed, Nancy was climbing her way up Thunder Trail.

Before she realized that she had come so far, she was in the open, the
sunlight almost blinding her. She started back and screwed her eyes to
make sure that she saw aright. Not only was she out of the woods but she
was on the edge of a trim garden plot; there was a dilapidated cabin
just beyond it, and an ancient creature standing in the doorway.

At first Nancy could not make out whether it was a man or a woman. She
had never seen any one so old, and the eyes in the shrunken face were
like burning holes--caverns with fire in them!

Nancy was too stunned to move or speak. Her knowledge of the hills
forbade the usual fear, but a supernatural terror seized her and she
waited for the old woman--she decided it was a woman--to make the first
advance. This the woman presently did. She turned, and with trembling
haste took up a rusty spade by the door; she shuffled toward a corner of
the opening and began to dig at a mound that was covered with loose
earth. Weakly, fearfully, the claw-like hands worked while Nancy stood
fascinated and bewildered. Finally the old woman came toward her and
there was a tragic pathos on the wrinkled face that tended to quiet the
girl's rising fear. The cracked voice was pleading:

"How did yo' get out?" The words came anxiously and with difficulty,
like the words of a deaf mute that had been taught to speak
mechanically.

Nancy smiled weakly and looked silently at the speaker.

"Been tryin' to find hit?" the strained voice went on. "Yo' better lie
still, Zalie--yo' larned enough, chile!"

And then, because the rigid girl did not speak, the old woman drew
nearer.

Nancy, believing herself in the presence of a harmlessly insane
creature, rallied her courage and sought to soothe, not excite, the
woman.

"I'm lost," she faltered. "I am sorry to have disturbed you; I am going
now."

She half turned, keeping her eyes on her companion.

"Come--set a bit," pleaded the crackling voice; "come warm yo'self
before I tuck yo' up again. How cold yo' little hands are! Po' little
Zalie, jes' naturally--tryin' to find hit."

There are limits of fear beyond which, for self-preservation, a kind of
calm strength lies that suggests ways of safety. Nancy did not run or
cry out, she did not withdraw her icy hands from the brown, claw-like
fingers that held them; she even smiled a faint, ghastly smile that
reassured the old woman