. . .There was still hope, but little more than hope. How many hours Memory Frean had been seeking shelter there was no way to conjecture!

Tory realized that she had forgotten the first aid in the emergency that faced her uncle and herself. She could recall only this one fact: the change in the temperature must not be too decided. On Memory Frean’s table amid her most cherished books lay a Scout manual.

Tory’s hands seemed frozen and helpless as she searched for the desired page. After a hurried glance about the unfamiliar room, Mr. Fenton had disappeared, murmuring that he would return as soon as possible. He must in some way get word to the doctor. He appeared35 strangely annoyed that Miss Frean had no telephone. Tory had learned to understand that Mr. Fenton was often irritable when he was most deeply concerned and distressed.

His going made no especial difference. Alone Tory was struggling to remove Miss Frean’s stiff clothes, n. . . Read More