They watched Pa and Ma starting gaily away. Ma was so pretty, in her brown-and-red Christmas shawl, with her brown knit hood tied under her chin, and she stepped so quickly and looked up at Pa so merrily that Laura thought she was like a bird.
Then Laura swept the floor while Mary cleared the table. Mary washed the dishes and Laura wiped them and put them in the cupboard. They put the red-checked cloth on the table. Now the whole long afternoon was before them and they could do as they pleased.
First, they decided to play school. Mary said she must be Teacher, because she was older and besides she knew more. Laura knew that was true. So Mary was Teacher and she liked it, but Laura was soon tired of that play.
“I know,” Laura said. “Let’s both teach Carrie her letters.”
They sat Carrie on a bench and held the book before her, and both did their best. But Carrie did not like it. She would not learn the letters, so they had to stop that.
“Well,” said Laura, “let’s play keeping house.”
“We are keeping house,” said Mary. “What is the use of playing it?”
The house was empty and still, with Ma gone. Ma was so quiet and gentle that she never made any noise, but now the whole house was listening for her.
Laura went outdoors for a while by herself, but she came back. The afternoon grew longer and longer. There was nothing at all to do. Even Jack walked up and down restlessly.
He asked to go out, but when Laura opened the door he would not go. He lay down and got up, and walked around and around the room. He came to Laura and looked at her earnestly.
“What is it, Jack!” Laura asked him. He stared hard at her, but she could not understand, and he almost howled.
“Don’t, Jack!” Laura told him, quickly. “You scare me.”
“Is it something outdoors?” Mary wondered. Laura ran out, but on the doorstep Jack took hold of her dress and pulled her back. Outdoors was bitter cold. Laura shut the door.
“Look,” she said. “The sunshine’s dark. Are the grasshoppers coming back?”
“Not in the winter-time, goosie,” said Mary. “Maybe it’s rain.”
“Goosie yourself!” Laura said back. “It doesn’t rain in the winter-time.”
“Well, snow, then! What’s the difference?” Mary was angry and so was Laura. They would have gone on quarreling, but suddenly there was no sunshine. They ran to look through the bedroom window.
A dark cloud with a fleecy white underside was rolling fast from the north-west.
Mary and Laura looked out the front window. Surely it was time for Pa and Ma to come, but they were nowhere in sight.
“Maybe it’s a blizzard,” said Mary.
“Like Pa told us about,” said Laura.
They looked at each other through the gray air. They were thinking of those children who froze stark stiff.
“The woodbox is empty,” said Laura.
Mary grabbed her. “You can’t!” said Mary. “Ma told us to stay in the house if it stormed.” Laura jerked away and Mary said, “Besides, Jack won’t let you.”
“We’ve got to bring in wood before the storm gets here,” Laura told her. “Hurry!”
They could hear a strange sound in the wind, like a far-away screaming. They put on their shawls and pinned them under their chins with their large shawl-pins. They put on their mittens.
Laura was ready first. She told Jack, “We’ve got to bring in wood, Jack.” He seemed to understand. He went out with her and stayed close at her heels. The wind was colder than icicles. Laura ran to the woodpile, piled up a big armful of wood, and ran back, with Jack behind her. She could not open the door while she held the wood. Mary opened it for her.
Then they did not know what to do. The cloud was coming swiftly, and they must both bring in wood before the storm got there. They could not open the door when their arms were full of wood. They could not leave the door open and let the cold come in.
“I tan open the door,” said Carrie.
“You can’t,” Mary said.