One cold night, after everybody in the little village was snugly tucked into bed, and every light was out, a wind came down from the plains of the great Northwest, and brought with it millions and billions of beautiful dancing flakes of snow, and proceeded to have a grand frolic. All night long the snow and the wind played around the houses and through the streets, and in the morning when people began to get up and look out, they hardly knew their own village. It seemed to be turned into a strange range of white hills, with here and there a roof or a chimney peeping out. There were no fences, there were no roads, but all was one mass of glittering white, and the wind was still at work tossing the billions of sharp little ice-needles into the face of any one who ventured to peep out, sending a shower of snow into an open door, and piling it up in great drifts in every sheltered spot. So nearly everybody who was comfortable at home, and had plenty to eat in the house, at once decided to stay there. There was no use trying to dig themselves out until the snow stopped falling, and the wind got tired of tossing it about. The villagers were late in getting up, for the snow before the windows made it dark, and it was nearly nine o'clock when Mrs. Burns said to Maggie, "You must try to get to the well; I'm out of water." So Maggie put on her coat and mittens, tied her hood down over her ears, took the pail, and went out. Fortunately, the kitchen door was in a sheltered place, and no snow was piled up before it, but she had a hard time getting through the drifts to the well. However, she did at last succeed in drawing the water and getting back to the door. As she set down the pail, a thought struck her,--"What will become of Miss Hester in this storm?" She went out again, closing the door softly behind her, and looked toward the cottage, which was not far off, in plain sight. In the place where the little house should be was a great white hill. Maggie floundered through the drifts till she reached the gate, where she had a better view. The storm held up for a moment, so that Maggie could see over the village. Every house in sight was sending up a thin column of smoke, showing there was life within. Miss Hester's chimney alone was smokeless. "Dear me!" thought the child, "I'm afraid she's sick, and what'll become of her and the cow--the shed is so far off, and she could never fight her way through the drifts,--she ain't very strong--and so little." Another pause while she strained her eyes to see signs of life about the cottage. "Well, anyway," she said at last, "she was awful good to me last summer, and I'll see if I can't get there to help her," and she bravely started out. It was a hopeless-looking task, for between Mrs. Burns's and Hester Bartlett's were drifts that seemed mountain high. Not a soul was in sight, and just then the storm began again, wilder than ever.