o with you too, but it's a morning
when bed can't be resisted. So good-by, little brown angel, and come
back for a homely dinner of corn beef."

Few people had passed since the snow had ceased falling and the
sidewalks were still beautiful, one side dazzling white, the other
luminous purple in the shadow of the walls. Anxious not to miss any of
the spectacle before the city made for its destruction--some boys were
already shoveling the snow into the street--Hertha hastened to the open
square on one side of which stood her church. Tall English elms with
nobly branching limbs stood out against the clear blue sky; and the
bushes, bared of their leaves, bore on each twig a mass of crystal
flowers. She moved in and out among the paths, crunching the snow
beneath her feet, now circling the dismantled fountain, now walking
through the broad gateway only to return again. Looking at the church
clock she found she had still half an hour left to enter into the
treasures of the snow.

As she stood in the sunlight by the park bench she became conscious that
some one was watching her. This, she had learned, was one of the
distressing features of city life; only at a shop window could one stop
to gaze without being conspicuous. Provoked at the sense of interruption
she started to walk away.

"I beg your pardon."

Turning she saw the young man of the evening before. He looked almost
attractive in the daylight in his soft hat and dark overcoat, the winter
cold bringing a little color to his face. His deep blue eyes were clear
and friendly, and she felt sure from his manner that he meant no
impertinence.

"I beg your pardon," he said again, "but I noticed you here in the early
morning looking at things and I thought they might be as strange to you
as to me."

"I have never seen the snow before," said Hertha.

"There, I was on to it, all right. Do you know what it's like," he went
on, "all this snow? It's like a field of cotton with the stuff lying
around in heaps, but with some bolls still sticking to the plant. Look
at it there on that bush. The Bible says 'white as wool' but I say,
'white as cotton.'"

Hertha looked down at her feet which were beginning to feel cold, and
struck one against the other; but while she did not speak she did not go
away, and the young man still tried to make talk.

"It certainly is a pretty day," he said desperately.

Then Hertha looked up and laughed. She had not heard that greeting since
she