I was so tired I stopped, and leaning against the fence, peeped through at the white stones and the whiter mounds they covered, and wondered how my mother would feel if she were compelled to lay me beside the two little whooping cough and fever sisters already sleeping there.

I decided that it would be so very dreadful, that the tears began to roll down my cheeks and freeze before they fell.
Down the Big Hill slowly I went.

How bare it looked then! Only leafless trees and dried seed pods rattling on the bushes, the sand frozen, and not a rush to be seen for the thick blanket of snow.

A few rods above the bridge was a footpath, smooth and well worn, that led down to the creek, beaten by the feet of children who raced it every day and took a running slide across the ice.

I struck into the path as always; but I was too stiff to run, for I tried.