"For which I shall be most devoutly thankful," he answered.

"Well, our turkey is all ready, and we shall thank kind Providence
for sending you to us, snow-bound as we are."

Mr. Winters took down the old Bible and read "a portion with
judicious care," then a hymn and prayer, and the good-nights, and Mr.
Monteith was in the guest-chamber--a little white room under the
eaves, cold-looking in its purity but for the firelight glow. "The
name of that chamber was Peace," thought Mr. Monteith, as his
delighted eyes surveyed, it and with Bunyan's Pilgrim he felt that he
had reached "already the next door to heaven." It surely must be the
"chamber of peace," because "the window opened towards the
sunrising," and in the morning a glorious panorama spread itself
before him. Fences and all unsightly objects had disappeared. Just
one broad expanse of whiteness as far as the eye could reach. The
rough old hills, from foot to summit, wore a robe of unsullied
whiteness--the soft white garment rested lightly on roof and tree,
over all the rising sun shed rays of rosy light. It accorded well
with Mr. Monteith's spirit when he heard Mr. Winters singing--

"The New Jerusalem comes down.
Adorned With shining grace."

The host and his visitor launched into a tide of talk immediately
after breakfast. They had so many things in common to talk over that
there seemed to be no end. So occupied was Mr. Monteith with the
father that he seemed to bestow very little attention on the
daughter; on the contrary, no word or look of hers escaped him.