said Miss Burroughs. "You might pull his head
off, but he wouldn't move. I have seen him tried."

At this moment a window-sash in the second story of the house was
raised, and there, not thirty feet from us, stood an elderly female,
wrapped in a gray shawl, with piercing eyes shining through great
spectacles.

"You seem to be stuck," said she, sarcastically. "You are worse stuck
than the fork was in my kitchen table."

We made no answer. I do not know how Miss Burroughs looked or felt, or
what was the appearance of Uncle Beamish, but I know I must have been
very red in the face. I gave the horse a powerful crack and shouted to
him to go on. There was no need for low speaking now.

"You needn't be cruel to dumb animals," said the old lady, "and you
can't budge him. He never did like snow, especially in going away from
home. You cut a powerful queer figure, young man, with that
horse-blanket around you. You don't look much like a practising
physician."

"Miss Burroughs," I exclaimed, "please take that pin out of this
blanket. If I can get at his head I know I can pull him around and
make him go."

But she did not seem to hear me. "Aunty," she cried, "it's a shame to
stand there and make fun of us. We have got a perfect right to go away
if we want to, and we ought not to be laughed at."

The old lady paid no attention to this remark.

"And there's that false doctor," she said. "I wonder how he feels just
now."

"False doctor!" exclaimed Miss Burroughs. "I don't understand."

"Young lady," said Uncle Beamish, "I'm no false doctor. I intended to
tell you all about it as soon as I got a chance, but I haven't had one.
And, old lady, I'd like you to know that I don't say I'm a doctor, but
I do say I'm a nuss, and a good nuss, and you can't deny it."

To this challenge the figure at the window made no answer.

"Catherine," said she, "I can't stand here and take cold, but I just
want to know one thing: Have you positively made up your mind to marry
that young doctor in the horse-blanket?"

This question fell like a bomb-shell into the middle of the stationary
sleigh.

I had never asked Kitty to marry me. I loved her with all my heart and
soul, and I hoped, almost believed, that she loved me. It had been my
intention, when we should be left together in the sleigh this morning,
after dropping Uncle Beamish at his sister's house, to ask her to marry
me.

The old woman's question pierced me as i