every reason to suppose
would be accepted, was the death blow to his hopes, yet he unselfishly
stepped out into the snow, waited five minutes by his watch--a liberal
allowance for an acceptance, he considered--and then rapped loud and
theatrically before entering a second time. Could unselfishness go
further?

Kate and Sanderson had no other opportunity for confidential talk that
evening.

They were barely seated about the supper table, when there came a
tremendous rapping at the door, and Marthy Perkins came in, half
frozen. For once her voluble tongue was silenced. She retailed no
gossip while submitting to the friendly ministrations of Mrs. Bartlett
and Anna, who chafed her hands, gave her hot tea and thawed her back to
life--and gossip.

"Is the Squire back yet?" asked Marthy with returning warmth. "Land
sakes, what can be keeping him? Heard him say last night that he
intended going away this morning, and thought he might have come back."

"With news?" naively asked Sanderson.

"Why, yes. I did think it was likely that he might have gathered up
something interesting, away a whole day." Every one laughed but Mrs.
Bartlett. She alone knew the object of her husband's quest.

"Your father's not likely to be back to-night--do you think so, Dave?"
she asked her son, more by way of drawing him out than in the hope of
getting any real information.

"No, I do not think it is likely, mother," he answered.

"Good land! and I nearly froze to death getting here!" Marthy said in
an aside to Mrs. Bartlett. "I tell you, Looizy, there is nothing like
suspense for wearing you out. I couldn't get a lick of sewing done
to-day, waiting for Amasy to get in with the news."

"Hallo! hallo! Let us in quick--here we are, me and the Squire--most
froze! Hallo, hallo"--The rest of Hi's remarks were a series of whoops.

Every one rose from the table, Mrs. Bartlett pale with apprehension.
Marthy flushed with delight. She was not to be balked of her prey.
The Squire was here with the news.

CHAPTER XVI.

ALONE IN THE SNOW.

"The cold winds swept the mountain-height,
And pathless was the dreary wild,
And mid the cheerless hours of night
A mother wandered with her child:
As through the drifting snows she pressed,
The babe was sleeping on her breast."--_Seba Smith_.

The head of the house was home from his mysterious errand, the real
object of which was unknown to all but Marthy and his wif