The door had closed on her
dress. She pulled and twisted, but it was of no use--she was a
prisoner. She could not reach the bell, and only a dead latch-key
would open it from the outside. It was late in the afternoon and few
people were passing; then too she did not like to call for help. The
poor child felt herself to be in a somewhat ridiculous position, and
if she dreaded anything it was being made fun of.
Suppose Carl should come in and find her! He was such a tease he would
tell the other boys, and they would think it a great joke. The wind
was so cold and penetrating that after a little Elsie forgot her fear
of being laughed at, and began to long for anybody who would release
her. All the passers-by seemed to be on the other side of the street.
Once she called to a colored boy, but he only looked at her stupidly
and went on.
"Oh, dear! what shall I do!" she cried, sinking down on the cold
marble step. "I wish I had never thought of my book."
She wondered what Bess and Louise would think if she were found frozen
to death on their doorstep. Her mother would be sorry she had not
allowed one of the servants to take her note. There was some comfort
in this thought. Then--was that really someone coming down the walk at
the side of the house? She held her breath.
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