d not missed the island, they would have been here, at
the latest, before eleven o'clock. And by the time it was one she could
no longer doubt that they had lost the island, and were tacking about
looking for it in the bay, if, indeed, in that gale they dared to tack
at all. No! Laura knew only too well, that where they were was beyond
her guessing; that the good God and they two only knew.

"Come here, Tom, and let me tell you a story! Once there was a little
boy, and he had two kittens. And he named one kitten Muff, and he named
one kitten Buff!"--

Whang!

What was that?

"Tom, darling, take care of baby; do not let her get out of the cradle,
while mamma goes to the door." Downstairs to the door. The gale has
doubled its rage. How ever did it get in behind the storm-door outside?
That "_whang_" was the blow with which the door, wrenched off its
hinges, was flung against the side of the wood-house. Nothing can be
done but to bolt the storm-door to the other passage, and bolt the outer
window shutters, and then go back to the children.

"Once there was a little boy, and he had two kittens, and he named one
Minna, and one Brenda"--

"No, mamma, no! one Muff, and one"--

"Oh, yes! my darling! once there was a little boy, and he had two
kittens, and he named one Buff, and one Muff. And one day he went to
walk"--

Heavens! the lanterns! Who was to trim the lamps? Strange to say,
because this was wholly out of her daily routine, the men always caring
for it of course, Laura had not once thought of it till now. And now it
was after one o'clock. But now she did think of it with a will. "Come,
Tommy, come and help mamma." And she bundled him up in his thickest
storm rig. "Come up into the lantern." Here the boy had never come
before. He was never frightened when he was with her. Else he might well
have been frightened. And he was amazed there in the whiteness; drifts
of white snow on the lee-side and the weather-side; clouds of white snow
on the south-west sides and north-east sides; snow; snow everywhere;
nothing but whiteness wherever he looked round.

Laura made short shift of those wicks which had burned all through the
night before. But she had them ready. She wound up the carcels for their
night's work. Again and again she drew her oil and filled up her
reservoirs. And as she did so, an old text came on her, and she wondered
whether Father Spaulding knew how good a text it would be for
Christmas. And the fanc