About noon, when the storm was at its very worst, Mandy, who was looking out of the kitchen window, espied something black in the road about halfway between Deacon Mason’s and the Pettengill house.  She called Mrs. Crowley to the window and asked her what she thought it was.

“That’s aisy,” said Mrs. Crowley, “It’s a man coming down the road.”

“What can bring a man out in such a storm as this?” asked Mandy.

“Perhaps he is going for the docther,” remarked Mrs. Crowley.

“Then he would be going the other way,” asserted Mandy.

“He’s a plucky little divil anyway,” said Mrs. Crowley.

“That’s so,” said Mandy.  “He is all right as long as he keeps on his feet, but if he should fall down—­”

At that moment the man did fall down or disappear from sight.  Mandy pressed her face against the window pane and looked with strained eyes.  He was up again, she could see the dark clothing above the top of the snow.

What was that!  A cry?  The sound was repeated.

“I do believe the man is calling for help,” cried Mandy.

She rushed to the kitchen door and opened it.  A gust of snow swept into the room, followed by a stream of cold, chilling air.  Swiss awoke from his nap and lifted, his head.  Despite the storm, Mandy stood at the door and screamed “Hello!” with her sharp, strident voice.  Could she believe her ears?  Through the howling storm came a word uttered in a voice which her woman’s heart at once recognized.  The word was “Mandy,” and the voice was Hiram’s.

“What on earth is he out in this storm for?” said Mandy to herself.  She called back in response, “Hello!  Hello!  Hello!” and once more her own name was borne to her through the beating, driving storm.

She shut the door and resumed her post at the window.  Hiram was still struggling manfully against the storm and had made considerable progress.

Mandy turned to Mrs. Crowley and said, “Mr. Maxwell is coming, Mrs. Crowley.”

“More fool he,” remarked Mrs. Crowley, “to be out in a storm like this.”

“Get some cider, Mrs. Crowley,” said Mandy, “and put it on the stove.  He will need a good warm drink when he gets here.”

“If he was a son of mine he’d get a good warmin’,” said Mrs. Crowley, as she went down cellar to get the cider.

Mandy still strained her eyes at the window.  The dark form was still visible, moving slowly through the snow.  At that moment a terrific storm of wind struck the house; it made every window and timber rattle; great clouds of snow were swept up from the ground to mingle with those coming from above, and the two were thrown into a whirling eddy that struck the poor traveller and took him from his feet, covering him from sight.  Mandy rushed to the door and opened it.  This time she did not scream “Hello.”  The word this time was “Hiram!  He is lost!  He is lost!” she cried.  “His strength has given out; but what shall I do?  I could not reach him if I tried.  Oh, Hiram!  Hiram!” and the poor girl burst into tears.  She would call Mr. Pettengill; she would call Cobb’s twins; she would call Mr. Sawyer; one of them would surely go to his assistance.