going to do?" I asked.

"I'm goin' to open the barn door and let the horse go in," said he.
"He seems to want to. I don't know whether this is Crocker's barn or
not. It don't look like it, but I may be mistaken. Anyway, we will
let the horse in, and then go to the house. This ain't no night to be
travellin' any further, doctor, and that is the long and the short of
it. If the people here ain't Crockers, I guess they are Christians!"

I had not much time to consider the situation, for while he had been
speaking, Uncle Beamish had waded through the snow, and finding the
barn door unfastened, had slid it to one side. Instantly the horse
entered the dark barn, fortunately finding nothing in his way.

"Now," said Uncle Beamish, "if we can get somethin' to tie him with, so
that he don't do no mischief, we can leave him here and go up to the
house." I carried a pocket lantern, and quickly lighted it. "By
George!" said Uncle Beamish, as I held up the lantern, "this ain't much
of a barn--it's no more than a wagon-house. It ain't Crocker's--but no
matter; we'll go up to the house. Here is a hitchin'-rope."

We fastened the horse, threw a robe over him, shut the barn door behind
us, and slowly made our way to the back of the house, in which there
was a lighted window. Mounting a little portico, we reached a door,
and were about to knock when it was opened for us. A woman, plainly a
servant, stood in a kitchen, light and warm.

"Come right in," she said. "I heard your bells. Did you put your
horse in the barn?"

"Yes," said Uncle Beamish, "and now we would like to see--"

"All right," interrupted the woman, moving toward an inner door. "Just
wait here for a minute. I'm going up to tell her."

"I don't know this place," said Uncle Beamish, as we stood by the
kitchen stove, "but I expect it belongs to a widow woman."

"What makes you think that?" I asked.

"'Cause she said she was goin' to tell HER. If there had been a man in
the house, she would have gone to tell HIM."

In a few moments the woman returned.

"She says you are to take off your wet things and then go into the
sitting-room. She'll be down in a minute."

I looked at Uncle Beamish, thinking it was his right to make
explanations, but, giving me a little wink, he began to take off his
overcoat. It was plain to perceive that Uncle Beamish desired to
assume that a place of refuge would be offered us.

"It's an awful bad night," he said to th