t went on: "Now you
keep anything you suspect about me, anything you can't understand in my
ways, just as secret as if it were written on the back of a letter. You
will, I am sure. So now let us shake hands upon it." They did, and were
established as better friends than before.

The weather had become extremely cold, but the poorhouse poet went on
his rounds, persisting in being dressed as in the autumn.

It had been snowing all night, and the cold was excessive. Johanson was
awakened by an unusual chill in the air. A long point of snow lay along
the floor of his room, as it had drifted in under the not over-tight
door. He dressed and hurried out. The vestibule was one snow-bank, and
the outside door was wide open. He pushed his way into the poet's room.
It was empty. It was plain that the poor fellow had been out on his
usual rounds, and had not returned to put up the outer bars, as was his
nightly custom; for the old locks were not to be relied upon. He
probably had not been able to force his way through the heavy drifts and
the wild storm which was still raging.

The cellar-master was a late sleeper. He woke now to see Johanson
hurrying about, evidently making ready for a trip.

"What are you doing? You are letting the cold in here, sir," said the
old fellow, only half awake.

"The poet is missing. He didn't come home last night. I shall go and
look him up. Have you any whisky? You have, I know. I saw Gull bring you
in a bottle last night. Let me have it, will you?"

"Yes; a pull will keep you up," was the answer.

"I don't want it for me," said Johanson hastily; "it has pulled me down
low enough. I'll never taste it again. But that poor fellow, he may need
it, if I find him."

"You are not going to risk yourself out looking for _him_!" said the
cellar-master, now fairly awake. "_You_ are right down crazy. Quiet
yourself. He'll be coming in soon, and making rhymes about his trip. You
don't look over hearty. I should think you would be afraid to risk it."

"Afraid!" said Johanson. "Have you ever been in a tornado? Have you been
in an earthquake? Have you been out in a blizzard, with no house within
miles?"

"No, no, no!" was the threefold reply.

"I've tried them all," said Johanson, "and I am not afraid of a little
snow. Lend me your stick, and I'm off."

Off he was, but not to return through the long morning. Towards noon, a
party who had been out with a snow-plough and a sledge came back,
bearing two