"Is it far?"

"No." The driver looked with concern at the storm which was coming again
down the mountain like a great white wave. "I think perhaps we'll have
to stop at the Hickson's tonight," he said.

The travelers were soon enwrapped in a swirling mantle of snow. Slowly
and carefully the dug-ways had to be traversed. The sky was dense and
black. The storm became a blizzard, and the cold became intense. The men
wrapped themselves in additional blankets. The horses went patiently on,
the driver peering anxiously ahead; but it must have been well after
noon before the outlines of a large building near at hand bulked out of
the leaden sky.

"I'm glad we're here," exclaimed the driver.

"Where?" asked Dorian.

"At Hickson's."

They drove into the yard and under a shed where the horses were
unhitched and taken into a stable. A light as if from a wood fire in a
grate danced upon the white curtain of the unshaded windows. With his
mail-bag, the driver shuffled his way through the snow to the kitchen
door and knocked. The door opened immediately and Mrs. Hickson,
recognizing the mail-driver, bade him come in. Two children peered
curiously from the doorway of another room. Dorian a little nervously
awaited the possibility of Carlia's appearing.

It was pleasant to get shelter and a warm welcome in such weather. After
the travelers had warmed themselves by the kitchen stove, they were
invited into another room to meet Mr. Hickson, who was reclining in a
big arm chair before the grate. He welcomed them without rising, but
pointed them to chairs by the fire. They talked of the weather, of
course. Mr. Hickson reasoned that it was foolish to complain about
something which they could not possible control. Dorian was introduced
as a traveler, no explanation being asked or given as to his business.
He was welcome. In fact, it was a pleasure, said the host, to have
company even for an evening, as very few people ever stopped over night,
especially in the winter. Dorian soon discovered that this man was not
a rough mountaineer, but a man of culture, trying to prolong his
earth-life by the aid of mountain air, laden with the aroma of the
pines. The wife went freely in and out of the room, the children also;
but somewhat to Dorian's surprise, no Carlia appeared. If she were there
in the house, she surely would be helping with the meal which seemed to
be in the way of preparation.

The storm continued all afternoon. There could b