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passed this
steep-sided hill the loosely piled snow had slid down and carried with
it the dead trunk of a fallen tree.
    Pierre came from behind and stood over her unnoticed. He saw that the
oncoming tree, by a strange chance, had knocked down the girl and
pinned her legs to the ground. His strength and the strength of a
dozen men would not be sufficient to release her. This he saw at the
first glance, and saw the bright gold of her hair against the snow.
Then he dropped on his knees beside her.

Chapter 8
*
    The girl tossed up her arms in a silent greeting, and Pierre caught
the small cold hands and saw that she was only a child of twelve or
fourteen trapped by the wild storm sweeping over them. He crouched
lower still, and when he did so the strength of the wind against his
face decreased wonderfully, for the sharp angle of the hill's
declivity protected them. Seeing him kneel there, she cried out with a
little wail: "Help me—the tree—help me!" And, bursting into a
passion of sobbing, she tugged her hands from his and covered
her face.
    Pierre placed his shoulder under the trunk and lifted till the muscles
of his back snapped and cracked. He could not budge the weight; he
could not even send a tremor through the mass of wood. He dropped back
beside her with a groan. He felt her eyes upon him; she had ceased her
sobs, and looked steadily into his face.
    It would have been easy for him to meet that look on the morning of
this day, but after that night's work in Morgantown he had to brace
his nerve to withstand it.
    She said: "You can't budge the tree?"
    "Yes—in a minute; I will try again."
    "You'll only hurt yourself for nothing. I saw how you strained at it."
    The greatest miracle he had ever seen was her calm. Her eyes were wide
and sorrowful indeed, but she was almost smiling up to him.
    After a while he was able to say, in a faint voice: "Are you very
cold?"
    She answered: "I'm not afraid. But if you stay longer with me, you may
freeze. The snow and even the tree help to keep me almost warm; but
you will freeze. Go for help; hurry, and if you can, send it back
to me."
    He thought of the long miles back to Morgantown; no human being could
walk that distance against this wind; not even a strong horse could
make its way through the storm. If he went on with the wind, how long
would it be before he reached a house? Before him, over range after
range of hills, he saw no single sign of a building. If he reached
some such place it would be the same story as the trip to Morgantown;
men simply could not beat a way against that wind.
    Then a cold hand touched him, and he looked up to find her eyes grave
and wide once more, and her lips half smiling, as if she strove to
deceive him.
    "There's no chance of bringing help?"
    He merely stared hungrily at her, and the loveliest thing he had ever
seen was the play of golden hair beside her cheek. Her smile went out.
She withdrew her hand, but she repeated: "I'm not afraid. I'll simply
grow numb and then fall asleep. But you go on and save yourself."
    Seeing him shake his head, she caught his hands again.
    "I'll be unhappy. You'll make me so unhappy if you stay. Please go."
    He raised the small hand and pressed it to his lips.
    She said: "You are crying!"
    "No, no!"
    "There! I see the tears shining on my hand. What is your name?"
    "Pierre."
    "Pierre? I like that name. Pierre, to make me happy, will you go? Your
face is all white and touched with a shadow of blue. It is the cold.
Oh, won't you go?" Then she pleaded, finding him obdurate: "If you
won't go for me, then go for your father."
    He raised his head with a sudden laughter, and, raising it, the wind
beat into his face fiercely and the particles of snow whipped
his skin.
    "Dear Pierre, then for your mother?"
    He bowed his head.
    "Not for all the people who love you and wait for you now by some warm
fire—some cozy fire, all yellow and bright?"
    He took her hands and with them covered his eyes. "Listen: I have no
father; I have no