"I'm all right, mother."

"Why, it's Mr. Monteith, as sure as I live," said Edna's father.

"Yes, Mr. Winters," said Mr. Monteith, "I found a stray lamb of yours
on the highway, and brought it home."

"May God reward you," and Mr. Winters clasped his hand warmly. "I
have been very anxious. I did not see what was to become of her if
she was on her way in this terrible storm. How providential that you
happened to be going her way."

Mr. Monteith winced a little at this.

"You will stay with us to-night, of course," Mr. Winters said.

"Oh, no, indeed! Thank you! I must get back before dark. Will rest a
few minutes, though."

The Storm King was out in full force that day, for during those few
minutes huge banks piled themselves against windows and doors, and
the wind shrieked and moaned like a demon, shaking the house to its
foundations.

"Now," said Mr. Winters as his guest rose to go, "it is madness for
you to think of going home tonight, and I must insist that you stay.
I am disabled just now, or I would harness old Prince and get you
through."

Here Edna came in with her pleading eyes and, "Do stay; I know it is
not safe for you to go."

Motherly Mrs. Winters entreated also. How could he resist such
urgency, especially when it exactly fitted in with what he desired
above all things to do. He yielded, and was soon comfortably
established in the large old rocker by the fire. And now he enjoyed
the pleasure of a new experience. The stereotyped fashionable house
he knew all about, but this old house that looked small, and yet
stretched itself out into many cosy rooms; it was quaint, it was
unique, and so was the little household. It was like stepping into a
book, and that a book of poems. What was the charm of that low-browed
room he sat in? Could it be the broad fireplace, wherein blazed and
snapped a veritable back-log? Mr. Winters had stoves to warm the
house, but he insisted on keeping this fire to look at.

When they all gathered about the tea-table, his critical eye noted
many little points that a less refined man would not have thought of.
The fine white table-linen, delicate old-fashioned china, a piece or
two of highly polished silver, and the table not vulgarly loaded with
too great variety, yet everything delicious and abundant. Mr. and
Mrs. Winters, too, though unpretending, were persons of refinement
and intelligence. He was puzzled to understand how a young girl,
reared in so much seclusion, sh