mittens of the same make and material protected his hands. His legs were
wrapped up in a gray horse-blanket. He was whitened here and there with
snow, and snow was packed between the necks of the milk-cans. He drove
directly toward the boarding-house, and he and Bressant caught sight of
one another at the same moment.

"Hallo!" called the stranger; "you're Bressant, I guess, ain't you? I've
got something for you." Here he drew up beneath the window. "You see, I
was down to the depot getting some milk aboard the up-train, and Davis,
the telegraph-man, came up and asked me, 'Bill Reynolds, are you going
up to Abbie's? 'cause,' says he, 'here's a telegraph has come for the
student up there--him that's going to marry Sophie Valeyon--and our boy
he's down with the influenza,' says he. 'I'm you're man!' says I, 'let's
have it!' and here 'tis," added Mr. Reynolds, producing a yellow
envelope from the bottom of his overcoat pocket.

Bressant had heard little or nothing of the explanation volunteered by
the bearer of the message, but he at once recognized the yellow
telegraph-envelope, and comprehended the rest. But, ere he could leave
the window to go down and receive it, he saw the fat servant-girl, who
had witnessed the scene from the parlor, run down to the front-gate,
sinking above her ankles at every step, take the envelope from Bill's
mittened paw, exchange a word and a grin with him, and then return,
carefully stepping into the holes she had made going out.

Bill gave a nod of good-will to Bressant's window--for Bressant was no
longer there--whipped up his nag, and jingled off with his milk-cans. In
another minute the fat servant-girl, after stamping the remains of the
snow off her shoes upon the door-mat, opened the door, and introduced
the dispatch and her own smiling physiognomy. Bressant snatched the
former, and shut the door in the latter, before the hand-wiping and
haranguing had time to begin.

Before opening the envelope, he stood up at his full height, and filled
his lungs with a long, profound breath; then emitted it suddenly in a
sort of deep, short growl, and took his seat at the table. He tore open
the end of the envelope, pulled out the inclosure, which was an ordinary
printed telegraph-blank, filled in with three lines of writing, as
follows: "Been very ill come on at once at once must hear all no
alternative" in the scrawly and unpunctuated chirography peculiar to
written telegrams. The name signed was