had lured the red squirrels from their moss-lined nests in hollow
trees, and their barking was sometimes heard above the chime of
the bells.

"There goes a parson crow," cried Addie Marchmont. "How black and
solemn he looks against the snow!"

"Why are crows called parsons, Mr. Hemstead?" asked Lottie, as a
child might.

"Indeed, I don't know. For as good a reason, I suppose, as that
some girls are called witches."

She gave him a quick, keen look, and said, "I hope you mean nothing
personal."

"I should never charge you with being a witch, Miss Marsden, but
I might with witchery."

"A distinction without a difference," she said, seeking to lead
him on.

"He means," explained De Forrest, "that you might be bewitching if
you chose."

"Hush, Julian, you leave no room for the imagination," said Lottie,
frowningly.

"Look at that farm-yard, Miss Marsden," said Hemstead. "The occupants
seem as glad that the storm is over as we are. What pictures of