A fury
of charging battalions of snow met them in the avenue. She faced it
gallantly, joyous and rosy. He bent to avoid the sting of the driven
snow, shivering, and more at ease when in the town the houses broke the
force of the gale.
"You won't need to go to Grace's," he urged.
"I am under orders. Don't you know Aunt Ann?"
Presently plunging through the snow-drifts they came into the dreary
disordered back room which had so troubled Penhallow. It was cold with
that indoor cold which is so unpleasant. Joe Grace came in--a big
strapping young fellow. "I came from the farm and found father in bed and
no wood in the stack. Some one has just fetched a load." He began to
make a fire.
"Go up to your father," said Rivers. "Make a fire in his room. You ought
to have come sooner. Oh, that poor helpless Baptist saint--there isn't
much wrong, but the man is half frozen--and it is so needless."
"Come," said Leila. "Does he require anything?"
"No, I saw to that." As he spoke, he piled log on log and warmed his long
thin hands. "Wait a little, Leila." She sat down, while the loose
casements rattled.
"Leila," he said, "there is no chance to talk to you at Grey Pine. I am
troubled about these, my friends. What I now have of health and mental
wholesomeness in my life, I owe to them.
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