Mrs. Jervis and her two children, Ethel and Harry, were on their way to spend Christmas with the grandmother, who lived in a small town in Minnesota, three or four hours' journey from Minneapolis, where they were spending the winter. There had been a good deal of snow, but they did not think much about it, for they were not used to Minnesota snowstorms. It was getting late in the afternoon, and they were tired and anxious to reach B----before night, when the train--after a good deal of puffing, and backing, and jerking forward and back--stopped short. Several of the men went out to see what was the matter. Soon they began to come back, and one, whose seat was next to Mrs. Jervis, said, as he took his seat, "It doesn't look much like getting to B---- to-night." "What is the trouble?" asked Mrs. Jervis. "Tremendous drifts in the cut," answered Mr. Camp. "Snow falling faster than ever, and wind piling it up faster than a thousand men could shovel it out. This cut is a regular snow-trap." "Can't the engine plow through?" asked Mrs. Jervis anxiously. "That's what has been tried," said the man; "but the snow is higher than the smokestack, and packed so tight it's almost solid. We may be here a week, for all I see, unless the storm holds up and we get help." "Oh, mother!" wailed Ethel, "shan't we get to grandmother's for Christmas?" "I hope so, Ethel!" said Mrs. Jervis soothingly. "It's three days to Christmas, you know, and a good deal may happen in three days. Couldn't we go back?" she asked her neighbor. "If we could get back to Minneapolis it would be better than staying here," and she glanced anxiously at her daughter, whose wide, staring eyes were fixed on Mr. Camp, as if he held her fate in his hands. "They tried a while ago, you remember," he said; "but the cut we passed through a mile back is now as bad as this. The fact is, we are between two cuts, and for all I see are prisoners here till we get help from outside." Mrs. Jervis heard this with dismay, and Ethel with despair. She buried her face in her mother's lap, and shook all over with the violence of her sobs. Mrs. Jervis was distressed, for her daughter was just recovering from a serious illness, and she feared the consequences of such violent emotion. Her mind worked quickly; if she could only get Ethel interested in something,--but what could she do shut up in a car? She spoke again to her neighbor. "Didn't you say there were some travelers in the next car not so comfortable as we are?" "Yes, ma'am," he answered; "a mother and three children, one a baby, going to Dalton, where the father has just got work. They look poor, and are not very warmly clad. The conductor says he can't keep two cars warm; fuel is getting scarce; and he's going to bring them in here." "Do you hear that, Ethel?" said her mother anxiously; "there's a baby coming into our car."