wood-cutting in the mountains. At the dinner-table be remarked: "I have
heard to-day that the Lumley family are in great destitution, as usual.
It is useless to help them, and yet one cannot sit down to a dinner like
this in comfort while even the Lumleys are hungry."

"Hunger is their one good trait," said Webb. "Under its incentive they
contribute the smallest amount possible to the world's work."

"I shouldn't mind," resumed Leonard, "if Lumley and his wife were pinched
sharply. Indeed, it would give me solid satisfaction had I the power to
make those people work steadily for a year, although they would regard it
as the worst species of cruelty. They have a child, however, I am told,
and for its sake I must go and see after them. Come with me, Amy, and I
promise that you will be quite contented when you return home."

It was rather late in the afternoon when the busy Leonard appeared at the
door in his strong one-horse sleigh with its movable seat, and Amy found
that he had provided an ample store of vegetables, flour, etc. She
started upon the expedition with genuine zest, to which every mile of
progress added.

The clouded sky permitted only a cold gray light, in which everything
stood out with wonderful distinctness. Even the dried weeds with their
shrivelled seed-vessels were sharply defined against the snow. The beech
leaves which still clung to the trees were bleached and white, but the
foliage on the lower branches of the oaks was almost black against the
hillside. Not a breath of air rustled them. At times Leonard would stop
his horse, and when the jingle of the sleigh-bells ceased the silence was
profound. Every vestige of life had disappeared in the still woods, or
was hidden by the snow.