Mrs. Hyer could hardly recollect ever having heard her
name, "Maria," in full; as a child, and until she was married, she
was simply "Ri;" and as soon as she had a house of her own, to
become a centre of hospitality and help, she was adopted by
common consent of the neighborhood, in a sort of titular and
universal aunt-hood, which really was a much greater tribute and
honor than she dreamed. Not a man, woman, or child, within her
reach, that did not call her or know of her as "Aunt Ri."
"I donno whether I'd best make enny more fire naow or not," she
said reflectively; "ef this storm's goin' to last till mornin', we'll
come short o' wood, thet's clear." As she spoke, the door of the hut
burst open, and her husband staggered in, followed by Alessandro,
both covered with snow, their arms full of wood. Alessandro,
luckily, knew of a little clump of young cottonwood-trees in a
ravine, only a few rods from the house; and the first thing he had
thought of, after tethering the horses in shelter between the hut and
the wagons, was to get wood. Jeff, seeing him take a hatchet from
the wagon, had understood, got his own, and followed; and now
there lay on the ground enough to keep them warm for hours.
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