isa-normaladvance-1913-00209

Description:	THE NORMAL ADVANCE209to start the half mile tug for the Lucas farm.Br-rr, she shivered, as she waded throughthe drift piled up against the door. Eventhrough her veil she could feel the sting of thewind hurled icy arrows. Glad that the stretchwas but a half mile and that the road Avasstraight, she floundered through drift afterdrift. Sometimes, after wading through astretch almost devoid of snow, she Avould beprecipitated into a drift two or three feet high.To avoid such a drift, she circled, stumbled,and rolled doAvn the embankment into a deepbed of snow. All attempts to climb the gradeproved fruitless, so she ploughed on, hopingto be able to cut across the fields. The roadnever had seemed so long. She watched forthe lights of the farmhouse.Suddenly, she bumped into a tree, upondraAving back from which she brushed againsta clump of evergreens, Avhose snoAv-ladenbranches showered her with their Avhite burden. Her benumbed senses awoke. No evergreens were to be found for miles around except in the school yard. Was it possible thatshe had gone in a circle, such as she had readof in accounts of prairie snoAV storms? Shepushed on with new energy, until her footcatching, she fell headlong into a drift. Afterstruggling to rise, she sank back faint Avithpain, realizing that her ankle was hurt.Miss Re-my!Yes! she cried. A mocking howl of thewind Avas the only ansAver. The girl sank backagain, assuring herself that she was but dreaming whenMiss Re-my, Oh! Miss Re-my! close by sheheard Oh! Margaret.Here! she mustered all her flagging energies in the answer. A lantern gleam swungdimly into vieAV and she was gathered up instrong, young arms.Inside the school house, a half hour later,with feet toasting before the fire, she looked upat the big fellow Avho for Avant of anything elseto do, continued to poke the already roaringfire.Do you suppose your father will come forus? she questioned.But Cad could think of only one thing, andhe blurted that out like the boy that he was,Say, Im goin to say that piece tomorroAV!Every piece of Avork that Ave do Avhich is Avelldone is so much help every piece of pretenseand half-heartedness is so much hurt.Wouldst thou fashion for thyself a seemly life ?Then do not fret over what is past and gone And spite of all thou mayst have left behindLive each day as if thy life were just begun.—Goethe.
Source:	http://indstate.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/ref/collection/isuarchive/id/34654
Collection:	Indiana State University Archives

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