e house, he ordered his horse and cutter for a drive. Later he
changed the order, and directed that his team and two-seated sleigh be
brought to the door. It had occurred to him that there was a bare
possibility that he might have a passenger on his return trip. Then he
arrayed himself in knee-high rubber boots, a heavy overcoat, and a fur
cap. At three o'clock he entered his sleigh and directed his driver to
proceed with all reasonable haste to Cobb's Corners.

Out in the country where the winds of winter had piled the snow into
long heaps, the beaten track was getting soft, and it was necessary to
exercise some care in order to prevent the horses from slumping
through the drifts to the road-bed. And on the westerly slope of
Baldwin's Hill the ground in the middle of the road was bare for at
least forty rods. But, from that point on, whether his progress was
fast or slow, Colonel Butler scrutinized the way ahead of him, and the
farm-houses that he passed, with painstaking care. He was not looking
for any spruce tree here, no matter how straight and tall. But if
haply some farmer's boy should be out on an errand for the master of
the farm, it would be inexcusable to pass him negligently by; that was
all. And yet his vigilance met with no reward. He had not caught the
remotest glimpse of such a boy when his sleigh drew up at Enos
Walker's gate.

The unusual jingling of bells brought Sarah Butler and her sister to
the window of the sitting-room to see who it was that was bringing
such a flood of tinkling music up the road.

"For the land sakes!" exclaimed the sister; "it's Richard Butler, and
he's stopping here. I bet a cookie he's come after Pen."

But Pen's mother did not respond. Her heart was beating too fast, she
could not speak.

"You've got to go to the door, Sarah," continued the sister; "I'm not
dressed."

Colonel Butler was already on his way up the path, and, a moment
later, his knock was heard at the door. It was opened by Sarah Butler
who stood there facing him with outward calmness. Evidently the
colonel had not anticipated seeing her, and, for the moment, he was
apparently disconcerted. But he recovered himself at once and inquired
courteously if Mr. Walker was at home. It was the third time in his
life that he had spoken to his daughter-in-law. The first time was
when she returned from her bridal trip, and the interview on that
occasion had been brief and decisive. The second time was when her
husb