relentlessly; softly fingering the windows, blocking the doors, and
piling deep against the walls. Inside the house there was a strange
quiet; no sound save for hushed voices, and upstairs the shuffling
of muffled feet.

Below, all day long, Owd Bob patrolled the passage like some
silent, gray spectre.

Once there came a low knocking at the door; and David, his face
and hair and cap smothered in the all-pervading white, came in
with an eddy of snow. He patted Owd Bob, and moved on tiptoe
into the kitchen. To him came Maggie softly, shoes in hand, with
white, frightened face. The two whispered anxiously awhile like
brother and sister as they were; then the boy crept quietly away;
only a little pool of water on the floor and wet, treacherous
foot-dabs toward the door testifying to the visitor.

Toward evening the wind died down, but the mourning flakes still
fell.

With the darkening of night Owd Bob retreated to the porch and
lay down on his blanket. The light from the lamp at the head of the
stairs shone through the crack of open door on his dark head and
the eyes that never slept.

The hours passed, and the gray knight still kept his vigil. Alone in
the darkness--alone, it almost seemed, in the house--he watched.
His head lay motionless along his paws, but. the steady gray eyes
never flinched or drooped.