the stove, but
slipped from his chair and limped to his sister, whose hand he clutched.

"We'll freeze, I tell you!" shouted the doctor. "Open the---- Ha! Thank
you," in a mollified way, as Skipper Jonas opened the door; and then,
most engagingly: "May we come in?"

"An' welcome, zur," said the hearty Jonas, "whoever you be! 'Tis gettin'
t' be a wild night."

"Thank you. Yes--a wild night. Glad to catch sight of your light from
the top of the hill. We'll leave the racquets here. Straight ahead?
Thank you. I see the glow of a fire."

We entered.

"Hello!" cried the doctor, stopping short. "What's this? Kids? Good!
Three of them. Ha! How are you?"

The manner of asking the question was most indignant, not to say
threatening; and a gasp and heavy frown accompanied it. By this I knew
that the doctor was about to make sport for Martha and Jimmie and Sammy
Jutt (as their names turned out to be): which often he did for children
by pretending to be in a great rage; and invariably they found it
delicious entertainment, for however fiercely he blustered, his eyes
twinkled most merrily all the time, so that one was irresistibly moved
to chuckle with delight at the sight of them, no matter how suddenly or
how terribly he drew down his brows.

"I like kids," said he, with a smack of the lips. "I eat 'em!"

Gurgles of delight escaped from the little Jutts--and each turned to the
other: the eyes of all dancing.

"And how are _you_?" the doctor demanded.

His fierce little glance was indubitably directed at little Sammy, as
though, God save us! the lad had no right to be anything _but_ well, and
ought to be, and should be, birched on the instant if he had the
temerity to admit the smallest ache or pain from the crown of his head
to the soles of his feet. But Sammy looked frankly into the flashing
eyes, grinned, chuckled audibly, and lisped that he was better.

"Better?" growled the doctor, searching Sammy's white face and skinny
body as though for evidence to the contrary. "I'll attend to _you_!"

Thereupon Skipper Jonas took us to the shed, where we laid off our packs
and were brushed clean of snow; and by that time Matilda Jutt, the
mother of Martha and Jimmie and Sammy, had spread the table with the
best she had--little enough, God knows! being but bread and tea--and was
smiling beyond. Presently there was nothing left of the bread and tea;
and then we drew up to the fire, where the little Jutts still sat,
regarding