our before Neale
O'Neil came for them. It was not until then that the girls noticed how
really shabby Neale was. His overcoat was thin, and plainly had not been
made for him.

Ruth knew she could not give the proud boy anything of value. He was
making his own way and had refused every offer of assistance they had
made him. He bore his poverty jauntily and held his head so high, and
looked at the world so fearlessly, that it would have taken courage
indeed to have accused him of being in need.

He strutted along beside the girls, his unmittened hands deep in his
pockets. His very cheerfulness denied the cold, and when Ruth timidly
said something about it, Neale said gruffly that "mittens were for
babies!"

It was a lowery evening as the trio of young folk set forth. The clouds
had threatened snow all day, and occasionally a flake--spying out the
land ahead of its vast army of brothers--drifted through the air and
kissed one's cheek.

Ruth, Agnes, and Neale talked of the possible storm, and the coming
Christmas season, and of school, as they hurried along. It was a long
walk out the Buckshot Road until they came in sight of the brilliantly
lighted Poole farmhouse.

It stood at the top of the hill--a famous coasting place--and it looked
almost like a castle, with all its windows alight, and now and then a
flutter of snowflakes falling between the approaching young people and
the lampshine from the doors and windows.

The girls and boys were coming from all directions--some from across the
open, frozen fields, some from crossroads, and other groups, like the
Corner House girls and Neale O'Neil, along the main highway.

Some few came in hacks, or private carriages; but not many. Milton
people were, for the most part, plain folk, and frowned upon any
ostentation.

The Corner House girls and their escort reached the Poole homestead in
good season. The entire lower floor was open to them, save the kitchen,
where Mother Poole and the hired help were busy with the huge supper
that was to be served later.

There was music and singing, and a patheoscope entertainment at first,
while everybody was getting acquainted with everybody else. But the boys
soon escaped to the barn.

The Poole barn was an enormous one. The open floor, with the great mows
on either side, and the forest of rafters overhead, could have
accommodated a full company of the state militia, for its drill and
evolutions.

Under the mows on either hand