Molly must have fallen down into the Wolf Pit! Yes, they
were quite near it. She remembered now that big white-birch tree stood
right at the place where the brook tumbled over the edge and fell into
it. Although she was dreadfully afraid of falling in herself, she went
cautiously over to this tree, feeling her way with her foot to make sure
she did not slip, and peered down into the cavernous gloom below. Yes,
there was Molly's little face, just a white speck. The child was crying,
sobbing, and holding up her arms to Betsy.
"Are you hurt, Molly?"
"No. I fell into a big snow-bank, but I'm all wet and frozen and I want
to get out! I want to get out!"
Betsy held on to the birch-tree. Her head whirled. What SHOULD she do!
"Look here, Molly," she called down, "I'm going to run back along to the
right road and back to the house and get Uncle Henry. He'll come with a
rope and get you out!"
At this Molly's crying rose to a frantic scream. "Oh, Betsy, don't leave
me here alone! Don't! Don't! The wolves will get me! Betsy, DON'T leave
me alone!" The child was wild with terror.
"But I CAN'T get you out myself!" screamed back Betsy, crying herself.
Her teeth were chattering with the cold.
"Don't go! Don't go!" came up from the darkness of the pit in a piteous
howl. Betsy made a great effort and stopped crying. She sat down on a
stone and tried to think.
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