The first great January snowfall was heralded1 by a leaden sky and a surly looking sunrise, and early in the forenoon down came the white flakes2, thick and fast, whirling this way and that, until the valley and the surrounding hills lay pure and soft under their fairy covering.
In the afternoon Miss Cotton took her sewing, put a shawl over her head, and ran over to the Hamiltons'. She was lonely, and, besides, she had some news to tell.
"Here's 'Liza comin'," announced Maggie to the group sitting around the dining room stove. "Chuck full o' news, too, I know. I can tell by the way she's hoppin' along. Old Mother Fraser's jist gone away from there; she's been tellin' her something new about Mr. Egerton, I guess!"
She ran out to the hall and flung open the door. "Hello, 'Liza! Come along in; we're all here, Sarah'n all. It was too snowy for her to go to school. My, but you needn't bring all the snow in; leave a little outdoors for sleighin'."
"If you weren't such a lazy poke3, Maggie Hamilton, you'd have a path shovelled4 to your gate; it looks like the track to a wigwam!"
"It's jist too bad, 'Liza," said Mrs. Hamilton as she swept the snow from her visitor's feet and skirts. "If I've told them girls once to sweep that path, I've told them a dozen times. Where's Mary Fraser been?"
"Up to see old Duncan Polite." Miss Cotton spread her cold hands over the stove, and surveyed the four girls sharply. "My, but you're pretendin' to be awful busy! An' Maggie sewin', too, as I'm alive! The poor old man's got brownkaties, she says."
Sarah covered her face with her French Grammar and giggled5.
"Oh yes, smarty! You've got to snicker at somethin'. I s'pose they've learned you some new-fangled way o' sayin' it at the High School. But brownkaties is good enough for ordinary folks, an' bad enough, too. An' that's what the poor old fellow's got anyhow. They had a doctor out from Mapletown, an' Betsey Neil's been there three nights. He's had a cold all fall, Mrs. Fraser says, an' wouldn't look after it."
"Dear, dear," said Mrs. Hamilton in distress6. "One o' you girls must run up to-morrow with some beef-tea or something. That's too bad. Sit close to the fire, 'Liza, it's dreadful cold."
"You'd better send Jessie up with the stuff," remarked the visitor, planting two trim feet upon the stove damper. "Maybe she'll get news o' Donald."
"How d'ye know she don't get news anyhow?" demanded Maggie.
"Well, I got some news I'll bet she never got. Don's up sides with you now, Miss Jessie!"
Jessie looked at her with a startled expression in her grey eyes.
"I don't know what you mean," she said with attempted lightness.
"Well, Mrs. Fraser told me to-day that Annie got a letter from Allan yesterday and he said Donald Neil was jist gone crazy over a city lady, a real high-flier, too, rich as a Jew, mind you; she has a carriage and she calls at the college every afternoon for my gentleman Donald and drives him home, coachman and footman and everything. Now wouldn't that kill you? I guess nobody in Glenoro'll be good enough for Don, now; he'll be gittin' stuck up, like all the other folks that take to book-learnin'"—she cast a meaning glance at Sarah, who smiled good naturedly. She rather enjoyed being considered proud of her educational attainments7.
"Well, what do you think o' your old beau now, Jessie?" continued the visitor.
Jessie's cheeks were very pink, but she returned Miss Cotton's gaze steadily8. "Why, I guess he's got a right to do anything he likes," she said indifferently.
"Well I should hope so, specially9 when you've been carryin' on with the minister all fall. I guess Don thought two could play at that game." She looked sharply at the girl, in some doubt. She really hoped she did not care, for 'Liza Cotton's heart was a kindly10 one, and she never told her tales from malice11, but from a sheer inability to be quiet. "You'd better look out you don't lose both your beaux," she added. "You and the minister don't seem so chummy since Christmas. Did you have a tiff12?"
Jessie's eyes sparkled, and the garrulous13 visitor knew she had gone too far. "I think that's my affair," said the girl quietly.
Miss Cotton laughed easily. "There now, you needn't get mad over it. Goodness me, I always thought you were the good-tempered one o' the family; you'll soon be as bad as Sarah for firin' up."
Sarah flew to defend herself, and incidentally to establish more firmly her reputation as the bad-tempered14 member of the household, and in the war of words which ensued Jessie's embarrassment15 was forgotten. Mrs. Hamilton sat and stitched placidly16 through the altercation17, breaking in at last to ask if Mrs. Fraser had said Duncan Polite could eat anything. There was some chicken broth18 in the house she could send up with Babbie when she came home from school.
Jessie slipped away, when the conversation turned from her affairs and crept upstairs. So this was the reason of Don's silence. Someone else had her place in his heart. She realised with a sharp pang19 that it was her own fault. She had trifled with his love, because the minister's attentions flattered her, and now she was reaping her just reward. It was the first real trial of the girl's bright, easy life. But she came of a stock of pioneers, hardy20 folk, accustomed to shoulder the adversities of life, and she bore her burden bravely. Only her mother knew that the news of Donald meant more to her than wounded vanity.
Every day during Duncan Polite's illness, Mrs. Hamilton, as was her custom in all cases of sickness in the village, sent one of the girls to his house with some tempting21 delicacy22, jellies or custards or gruel23 or beef-tea, the best she could produce. Jessie had refused positively24, from the first, to take her turn at these errands of mercy; though she had always been very willing under such circumstances in the past. But 'Liza Cotton's words had aroused a feeling of delicacy regarding a visit to Donald's uncle.
But one day she found it impossible to refuse. Sarah and the little girls were at school, Bella and Maggie were away, and her mother was preparing to make the snowy journey up to Duncan Polite's house, when Jessie interfered25. She would go this once, she said, but never again.
The morning was clear and bright, the world a dazzling vision of white, with here and there intense blue shadows. Above, stretched a cloudless dome26 of the same deep azure27. The air was mild, and the girl let her dark coat fly open, revealing a jaunty28 scarlet29 blouse; her cheeks were pink and her eyes bright from the exercise. So it was no wonder that as she passed the McNabbs' a pair of admiring eyes watched her, their owner wishing he could find some plausible30 excuse for going up the hill that morning. But it was Friday, and his sermon was not yet commenced.
Duncan Polite saw Jessie coming. He was able to sit up at his window by this time and look over his little hedge of blooming geraniums at the glittering white world. One of the little girls had always come formerly31, and he had been able to reward her with a wonderful story of the fairies that danced on the heather in the old land, or of Bonnie Prince Charlie, or some other charming personage. But this young lady was different. Duncan had scarcely spoken to her since the days she used to sit on his knee and have her turn at the stories. But he had long known that she was Donald's sweetheart, and he saw her come with feelings of mingled32 embarrassment and joy.
He arose quickly with all the natural courtesy that had earned him his name, and had the door wide open, before Jessie reached the steps. "Oh indeed, indeed, it would be too kind of you and your mother to be troubling," he said deprecatingly, as he took the little tin pail. "Come away in, come away!"
"You should not come to the door when you are sick, Mr. McDonald," said the girl kindly. "Are you better to-day?"
"Oh, yes indeed, yes indeed, I will jist be all right," cried Duncan, sweeping33 the snow from her small, neat boots. "And now you will jist be sitting by the fire for a rest after your long walk."
His tone was so eager that Jessie's heart was touched. She took the proffered34 seat, and Duncan in his pleasure and overwhelming hospitality began to cram35 the stove full of wood.
"Oh, I'm not cold, Mr. McDonald," she said, "not a little bit. Why, I was hot coming up the hill, the sun is so strong."
Duncan smiled at the bright, beautiful face. "Ah, it will be good to be young," he said, sinking into his old rocking chair again. "Oh yes, indeed. Then yo............