or summer, Cynthia knew every tree
and farmhouse beside it. Now it consisted of two deep grooves in the
deep snow; that was all, save for a curving turnout here and there for
team to pass team. Well-remembered scene! How often had Cynthia looked
upon it in happier days! Such a crust was on the snow as would bear a
heavy man; and the pasture hillocks were like glazed cakes in the window
of a baker's shop. Never had the western sky looked so yellow through
the black columns of the pine trunks. A lonely, beautiful road it was
that evening.

For a long time the silence of the great hills was broken only by the
sweet jingle of the bells on the shaft. Many a day, winter and summer,
Lem had gone that road alone, whistling, and never before heeding that
silence. Now it seemed to symbolize a great sorrow: to be in subtle
harmony with that of the girl at his side. What that sorrow was he could
not guess. The good man yearned to comfort her, and yet he felt his
comfort too humble to be noticed by such sorrow. He longed to speak,
but for the first time in his life feared the sound of his own voice.
Cynthia had not spoken since she left the station, had not looked at
him, had not asked for the friends and neighbors whom she had loved so
well--had not asked for Jethro! Was there any sorrow on earth to be felt
like that? And was there one to feel it?

At length, when they reached the great forest, Lem Hallowell knew
that he must speak or cry aloud. But what would be the sound of his
voice--after such an age of disuse? Could he speak at all? Broken and
hoarse and hideous though the sound might be, he must speak. And hoarse
and broken it was. It was not his own, but still it was a voice.

"Folks--folks'll be surprised to see you, Cynthy."

No, he had not spoken at all. Yes, he had, for she answered him.

"I suppose they will, Lem."

"Mighty glad to have you back, Cynthy. We think a sight of you. We
missed you."

"Thank you, Lem."

"Jethro hain't lookin' for you by any chance, be he?

"No," she said. But the question startled her. Suppose he had not been
at home! She had never once thought of that. Could she have borne to
wait for him?

After that Lem gave it up. He had satisfied himself as to his vocal
powers, but he had not the courage even to whistle. The journey to
Coniston was faster in the winter, and at the next turn of the road the
little village came into view. There it was, among the snows. The pain
in Cynthia's h