I found the peppermint and some whisky and put them on the stairs. Then
I took my pitcher and lantern and started for the spring-house. It was
still snowing, and part of the time Mrs. Moody's stockings were up to
their knees. The wind was blowing hard, and when I rounded the corner
of the house my lantern went out. I stood there in the storm, with the
shawl flapping, thanking heaven I was a single woman, and about ready
to go back and tell Mr. Moody what I thought of him when I looked toward
the spring-house.

At first I thought it was afire, then I saw that the light was coming
from the windows. Somebody was inside, with a big fire and all the
lights going.

I'd had tramps sleep all night in the spring-house before, and once they
left a card by the spring: "Water, water everywhere and not a drop to
drink!" So I started out through the snow on a half run. By the bridge
over Hope Springs Creek I slipped and fell, and I heard the pitcher
smash to bits on the ice below. But as soon as I could move I went on
again. That spring-house had been my home for a good many years, and the
tramp didn't live who could spend the night there if I knew it.

I realized then that I should have taken the poker. I went over
cautiously to one of the windows, wading in deep snow to get there--and
if you have ever done that in a pair of bedroom slippers you can realize
the state of my mind--and looked in.

There were three chairs drawn up in a row in front of the fire, with
my bearskin hearth-rug on them to make a couch, and my shepherd's plaid
shawl folded at one end for a pillow. And stretched on that with her
long sealskin coat laid over her was Dorothy Jennings, Miss Patty's