Wicked No. 7 [pp. 505-523]

5i8 WICKED No. 7. [Jan.,
in our sleigh when we chanced to meet your train awhile ago.
We never knew the express to stop where it did. But the conductor refused to let us get aboard. Then, in spite of Jim's urgent
entreaties, I made bold to steal a ride on the cow-catcher."
"Well, upon my word, you astonish me!" exclaimed Shippen.
"But it was awfully cold out there-awful{y cold. It seemed to
be blowing a thousand hurricanes right in my teeth, and I was
very soon obliged to seek refuge here," continued Helen, to
whose numb cheeks the blood was slowly coming back.
"Well, nobody could be more welcome; and I wish you, too,
a merry Christmas," said Shippen, now offering her his left hand.
"But what on earth possessed your brother and yourself to quit
home on such a fearfully cold night? Why didn't you wait
until daybreak?"
"Oh! we have a smart team of horses, we were well covered
up in a buffalo-robe, and nobody could get lost by following the
telegraph-poles," answered Helen. "Besides, sir, this is Christmas-blessed Christmas morning-and we were anxious to be at
first Mass, which is at four o'clock."
"Well, we shall soon see the lights of Des Moines; for the
road here is smooth and straight, and we are running nearly a
mile a minute," said Shippen. Then inwardly he said: "What a
good Christian she must be to leave home at such a time as this!
And to steal a ride, too, on the pilot merely in order to get to
church before sunrise! Verily, there's a heap of faith among
Catholics-a heap of faith, whatever some folks may say against
`em." "Well, had I remained on the cow-catcher-or pilot, as
it is sometimes called-I'd have been frozen stiff by this time,
wouldn't I?" continued Helen, whose cheeks were now blazing
red and felt as if a thousand needles were pricking them.
"Yes, miss, it was a very rash thing to do," answered Shippen. "It was indeed," said Helen; "and my brother will give
me a good scolding when he meets me." "Well, where is my
fireman?" said the engineer, glancing round. "Has he hidden
his scared head in the baggage-car?" "I guess he has," replied
Helen, laughing. "He no doubt took me for a ghost-ha! ha!"
Poor Dick Barnes! Little did they dream that at this very
moment he was floundering up to his waist in a snow-drift miles
behind. Wicked No. 7 had pitched him off while he was quaking
and praying on top of the coal-heap in the tender. "Well, truly,
it breaks my heart to think that my fireman is such a coward,"
said Shippen; "for Dick will probably lose his situation, and it's
a pretty good one." Here Shippen opened the furnace-door and