she had
passed the straggling farms and come into the little centre of the
town where the stores, the meeting-houses, and the tavern were
grouped.

The village main street looked almost deserted. There was only one
sleigh in sight, drawn up in front of the store. The horse was well
covered with a buffalo-skin and an old bed-quilt in addition, which
his master's wife had doubtless provided on account of the terrible
cold.

As Madelon reached the store a man came out with a molasses-jug in
hand and arms clasping parcels, which he began stowing away under the
seat of the sleigh. Madelon went up to him. "Can you tell me where
Mr. Otis lives?" said she. She could scarcely enunciate. Her very
tongue seemed stiff with the cold.

The man turned and stared at her with sharp blue eyes under red brows
frost-white between his cap and twice-wound red tippet. "Hey?" he
said, in a muffled voice.

"Can you tell me where Mr. Otis lives?"

"Otis?"

"Yes, sir."

"Which Otis d'ye mean? There's two Otises. D'ye mean Calvin Otis or
Jim Otis?"

"He has a son that plays the fiddle," answered Madelon, faintly.

"Then it's Jim ye mean. He died last year. He had a son Jim that
plays the fiddle. Lives down the road on the left-hand side, five
houses below the meeting-house. House with three popple-trees in
front--sets close to the road."

Madelon started, but the man's voice arrested her. "You look most
froze," said he. "Hadn't ye better go in there an' warm up?" He
pointed towards the store-windows with a rosy glow of light and
warmth transfusing their thick layers of frost. "It's pipin' hot in
there--warm ye all through in a minute. It's a terrible cold night.
Old man in there, lived 'round these parts risin' eighty years, says
he never knew sech a night. Better just step in there."

Madelon shook her head and started on.

"Where did ye come from?" called the man.

"Ware Centre," Madelon gasped out, as the freezing wind struck her.

"Good Lord! you don't mean to say you've walked risin' ten mile from
Ware Centre a day like this!"

Madelon was gone, bending before the wind, without another word.

"Good Lord!" said the man, "a woman walkin' from Ware Centre this
weather!" He stood staring after the girls' retreating figure; then
he started to unblanket his horse. But he stopped and stared again,
and finally went into the store to tell the news.

Madelon kept on as fast as she was able, but she was nearly spent.
Her exult