In Winter Quarters 



There are no thrills whatever in the 

 little tale I am about to tell. It is just 

 a plain narration of an experience 

 essentially human, and therefore neces- 

 sarily common. And yet any incident 

 that marks the first faint rustling of an 

 angel's wing, old as the story is, must 

 yet be ever new and sometimes worth 

 the telling, even though it relates, as 

 in this case, only to a twelve-year-old 

 boy whose central idea of happiness 

 up to that date had been, as a matter 

 of fact, based mainly upon considera- 

 tions affecting his own comfort and 

 convenience. So this is how he took 

 another step. 



In the midst of a good old-fashioned 

 snowy winter, one of those blizzards 

 that were in the early days a real 

 terror to travelers on the western 

 prairies burst in all its fury while 

 school was still in session in a little 

 country town. Word was sent out to 

 fathers and mothers to send for their 

 little ones, and see that they got safely 



