He had insisted that she was not dressed warmly enough for the
woods. We see forty and forty-five below up there, sometimes,"
he said. "You think this raw wind is cold; it is nothing to a
black frost in the Big Woods. Trees burst as if there were
dynamite in 'em. You've never seen the like.
"Of course the back of winter's about broken now. But we may
have some cold snaps yet. Anyhow, you look warmer than you did."
And that was true, for Nan was dressed like a little Esquimau.
Her coat had a pointed hood to it; she wore high fur boots, the
fur outside. Her mittens of seal were buttoned to the sleeves of
her coat, and she could thrust her hands, with ordinary gloves on
them, right into these warm receptacles.
Nan thought they were wonderfully served at the hotel where they
stopped, and she liked the maid on her corridor very much, and
the boy who brought the icewater, too. There really was so much
to tell Bess that she began to keep a diary in a little blank-
book she bought for that purpose.
Then the most wonderful thing of all was the message from Papa
Sherwood which arrived just before she and Uncle Henry left the
hotel for the train. It was a "night letter" sent from Buffalo
and told her that Momsey was all right and that they both sent
love and would telegraph once more before their steamship left
the dock at New York.
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