The Cry At Midnight By Mildred Augustine Wirt

MIDNIGHT AT THE GATE

 “We’ll not have many more glorious skiing nights like this one,” she said regretfully. “Anytime now, the weather is due to turn warm.” Jerry, a reporter at the Riverview Star, nodded as his gaze swept the snowy hillside, unmarked save for the herring-bone tracks made by their own skis. Tall and muscular, he was several years older than Penny, who attended high school. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, giving him the appearance of a semi-amused spectator of the world’s goings-on. “Jerry, it’s getting late,” she reminded him. “This will have to be our last run tonight. Ready?”“ Okay, I’ll race you to the valley!” the reporter challenged. “Let’s go! ”Digging in their poles, they flashed off down the hillside. Though they started together, Penny soon forged ahead, descending the steep slope in graceful, curving Christiania turns.