to give them to Agatha.

It was bitterly cold, and the pace the team made was slow, for the snow
was loose and too thin for a sled of any kind. Night had closed down and
Hawtrey was suffering from the cold, when at last a birch bluff rose out
of the waste in front of him. It cut black against the cold blueness of
the sky and the spectral gleam of snow, but when he had driven a little
further a stream of ruddy orange light appeared in the midst of it. A
few minutes later he pulled his team up in front of a little log-built
house, and getting down with difficulty saw the door open as he
approached it. Sally stood in the entrance silhouetted against a blaze
of cheerful light.

"Oh!" she cried. "Gregory!"

Hawtrey recognized the thrill in her voice, and took both her hands, as
he had once been in the habit of doing.

"Will you let me in?" he asked.

The girl laughed in a strained fashion. She had been a little startled,
and was not quite sure yet as to how she should receive him; but Hawtrey
drew her in.

"The old folks are out," she said. "They've gone over to Elliot's for
supper. He's bringing us a package."

Hawtrey, who explained that he had the parcel, let her hands go, and sat
down somewhat limply. He had come suddenly out of the bitter frost into
the little, brightly-lighted, stove-warmed room. The comfort and
cheeriness of it appealed to him.

"This looks very cozy after my desolate room at the Range," he remarked.

"Then if you'll stay I'll cook you supper. I suppose there's nothing to
take you home?"

"No," declared Hawtrey with a significant glance at her, "there
certainly isn't, Sally. As a matter of fact, I often wish there was."

He saw her sudden uncertainty, which was, however, not tinged with
embarrassment, and feeling that he had gone far enough he went out to
put up his team. When he returned there was a cloth on the table, and
Sally was busy about the stove. He sat down and watched her attentively.
In some respects, he thought she compared favorably with Agatha. She had
a nicely molded figure, and a curious lithe gracefulness of carriage
which was suggestive of a strong vitality. Agatha's bearing was usually
characterized by a certain frigid repose. Then Sally's face was at least
as comely as Agatha's, though attractive in a different way, and there
was no reserve in it. Sally was what he thought of as human, frankly
flesh and blood. Her quick smile was, as a rule, provocative, and never
ch