"Now, you'll be real comfy." The chilled boy puzzled and amused her.

As he became warm, John felt better in the hands of this easy despot, but
was somewhat indignant. "To send a chit of a girl for him--John
Penhallow!"

"Now," she cried to the driver, "be careful. Why did they send _you_?"

Billy, a middle-aged man, short-legged and long of body, turned a
big-featured head as he replied in an odd boyish voice, "The man was busy
giving a ball in the stable."

"A ball"--said John--"in the stable?"

"Oh! that is funny," said the girl. "A ball's a big pill for Lucy, my
mare. She's sick."

"Oh! I see." And they were off and away through the wind-driven snow.

The girl, instinctively aware of the shyness and discomfort of her
companion, set herself to put him at ease. The lessening snow still fell,
but now a brilliant sun lighted the white radiance of field and forest.
He was warmer, and the disconnected chat of childhood began.

"The snow is early. Don't you love it?" said the small maid bent on
making herself agreeable.

"No, I do not."