ost drifted over, for the third storm of
a winter that was to prove phenomenally stormy had whirled up the
harbor and heaped huge snow mountains about everything it encountered.
But Captain Jim had shovelled out doors and paths, and Miss Cornelia
had come down and kindled the hearth-fire.

"It's good to see you back, Anne, dearie! But did you ever see such
drifts? You can't see the Moore place at all unless you go upstairs.
Leslie'll be so glad you're back. She's almost buried alive over
there. Fortunately Dick can shovel snow, and thinks it's great fun.
Susan sent me word to tell you she would be on hand tomorrow. Where
are you off to now, Captain?"

"I reckon I'll plough up to the Glen and sit a bit with old Martin
Strong. He's not far from his end and he's lonesome. He hasn't many
friends--been too busy all his life to make any. He's made heaps of
money, though."

"Well, he thought that since he couldn't serve God and Mammon he'd
better stick to Mammon," said Miss Cornelia crisply. "So he shouldn't
complain if he doesn't find Mammon very good company now."

Captain Jim went out, but remembered something in the yard and turned
back for a moment.

"I'd a letter from Mr. Ford, Mistress Blythe, and he says the life-book
is accepted and is going to be published next fall. I felt fair
uplifted when I got the news. To think that I'm to see it in print at
last."

"That man is clean crazy on the subject of his life-book," said Miss
Cornelia compassionately. "For my part, I think there's far too many
books in the world now."

CHAPTER 29

GILBERT AND ANNE DISAGREE

Gilbert laid down the ponderous medical tome over which he had been
poring until the increasing dusk of the March evening made him desist.
He leaned back in his chair and gazed meditatively out of the window.
It was early spring--probably the ugliest time of the year. Not even
the sunset could redeem the dead, sodden landscape and rotten black
harbor ice upon which he looked. No sign of life was visible, save a
big black crow winging his solitary way across a leaden field. Gilbert
speculated idly concerning that crow. Was he a family crow, with a
black but comely crow wife awaiting him in the woods beyond the Glen?
Or was he a glossy young buck of a crow on courting thoughts intent?
Or was he a cynical bachelor crow, believing that he travels the
fastest who travels alone? Whatever he was, he soon disappeared in
congenial gloom and G