vening off duty, isn't it, Rose? I want to talk with
you, if you haven't made any other plans."

As it chanced, she had been eagerly anticipating a visit to the theatre
with Miss Merriman, who was home for a few days between cases; but
something about his manner caused her to tell a white lie without
hesitation.

"Good," he said. "I'll call for you in my car and take you to Ethel's
for dinner. Be ready at six o'clock."

All the rest of the day Donald's presence had been strangely close to
her, and she found herself wondering what it portended; but not until
the pleasant family meal was over, and he was taking her home, did she
learn.

When they came out of the house they found a baby blizzard sending the
first snow of the season, as light and dry as tiny particles of down,
whirling and eddying through the broad street. As Rose stood in surprise
at the top of the brownstone steps, a dry vagrant, left from one of the
trees which was tossing its gaunt arms protestingly, came tumbling down
to become stem-entangled in her hair. With a laugh, she dashed for the
motor car and, when she had sprung inside it, she was panting a little,
for the thieving wind had taken advantage of her lips being open in
laughter to steal away her breath, so that Donald was sensible of her
quickened heart beats as she leaned against him while his big but deft
fingers removed the leaf almost tenderly from its imprisoning mesh.

"Doctor Bentley would make a pretty speech about getting caught in my
hair," challenged Rose with a teasing pout.

The next instant she drew quickly back, for Donald's arms were almost
about her. He as quickly recovered himself, with the words, "But you
can't expect pretty speeches from a brother."

"You have been a dear big brother; I don't know why you have been so
good to me, Donald. Do you know what this snow reminds me of? That awful
night on the mountain when I went down to Fayville to telegraph for
you--and you came." For a moment they both sat in silent memories, then
Rose added, "Dear little Lou, I wonder how she is getting along now ...
and Juddy, too. Isn't it a strange thing, Donald, that one can forget
the old things so quickly--no, not forget, either; but have them forced
into the background of the mind by new surroundings and new friends.
Sometimes, all those years on the mountain seem to me like a dream. I
used to see the people there, Grandpap, Mr. Talmadge, Judd and all the
rest, every day, they were