e a great storm, or feels like it rather.
It's impossible to _see_."

A great storm it proved the next morning. The snow was falling very
thick; it lay heaped on the branches of the pines, and drifted into a
great bank at the corner of the piazza, and blocked up the
window-sills. It was piled up high on the house steps, and had quite
covered all signs of path and roadway; the little sweep in front of the
house was levelled and hid; the track to the barn could not be traced
any longer. And still the snow came down, in gentle, swift, stayless
supply; fast piling up fresh beautiful feathers of crystal on those
that already settled soft upon all the earth. So Matilda found things
when she got up in the morning. The air was dark with the snow-clouds,
and yet light with a beautiful light from the universal whiteness; and
the air was sweet with the pure sweetness of the falling snow. Matilda
hurried down. It was Sunday morning.

"There'll be no getting away to-day," said Norton, as together they set
the breakfast in readiness.

"Miss Redwood can't come home either," said Matilda. She was privately
glad. A snowy Sunday at the parsonage, one more Sunday, would be
pleasant.

"You can't get to church either," Norton went on.

"Why Norton! This little bit of way? It isn't but half a dozen steps."

"It is several half dozen," said Norton; "and the snow is all of a foot
deep, and in places it has drifted, and there isn't a sign of anybody
coming to clear it away yet. I don't believe there'll be twenty people
in church, anyhow. It's falling as thick as it can."

"Mr. Ulshoeffer will clear it away in front of the church," said
Matilda. "Some people will come. There! there's somebody at our back
steps now."

Norton opened the kitchen door to see if it was true; and to his great
astonishment found Mr. Richmond, in company with a large wooden shovel,
clearing the snow from the steps and kitchen area.

"Good morning!" said the minister, from out of the snow.

"Good morning, sir. Mr. Richmond! isn't there somebody coming to do
that for you, sir?"

"I don't know who is to come," said the minister pleasantly. "You had
better shut the door and keep warm."

"Tell him breakfast is ready, Norton," Matilda cried.

"Well!" said Norton, shutting the door and coming in. "Do you mean to
say that Mr. Richmond shovels his own snow?"

"His own snow!" repeated Matilda, with a little burst of laughter.
"Which part of the snow is Mr. Richm