Ellen next put some large sticks of wood upon the fire. The room, she thought, was getting cold. The wood was dry and it blazed up very cheerfully and illuminated the whole apartment with a very cheerful light. Lutie saw the light shining through the curtain, and she supposed that it was morning, and that Martha had built the fire. So she stretched her paws and rubbed her face, and then after listening a moment to the sound of the storm, she stepped over the side of the box where her bed was made, walked to the window, leaped up upon the window-sill, and mewed, according to her usual custom, expecting that Martha would come to let her in. Ellen went and opened the window for Lutie. Then she went back again to the fire. She stood at the fire a minute or two, and then went to the front window of the room, to look out; she wondered what could have become of Martha. She listened at the window. The storm was roaring dreadfully down the valley, but nothing could be seen. The panes of glass were half covered with the snow, which was banked up upon the sash on the outside. Ellen concluded that she would go to the door, where she thought that perhaps she might see a little way down the road, and if she could not see, at least she could listen. So she put a shawl over her shoulders and went out into the porch. She shut the door leading from the porch into the room, and then unlatched the porch-door which opened to the outer air. As she opened the door a great bank of snow which had been piled up on the outside of it, fell in about her feet. Ellen stepped back a little, and then, standing still, she looked out into the storm and listened. She had not listened long before she thought she heard a distant cry. It came from down the road. She listened again. There came a blustering blast of wind which rocked the trees, whirled the snow in her face, roared in the chimneys over her head, and for a moment drowned all other sounds. When this had passed, Ellen listened again. She was sure that she heard a distant cry. "It is my father and mother!" she exclaimed; "they are out in the storm!" Ellen's aunt had taught her to be collected and composed in all sudden and alarming emergencies, and always to take time to consider calmly what to do, however urgent the case might be. She stood for a moment, therefore, quietly where she was, and then determined to go and wake her aunt, and tell her what she had heard, and ask her what she had better do. She tried to shut the door but she could not. The snow that had fallen in prevented its closing. So she left it open and went through the porch to the inner door, and so back into the room, taking care to shut the inner door as soon as possible after she had passed through. She went to the couch, and kneeling down before it, she put her hand softly upon her aunt's cheek and said, speaking in a low and gentle tone, "Aunt!--Aunt Anne!" There was no answer.