"Can I see her now?" "She's sleepin'; I guess you better wait a little while till after breakfast." "Where's Kendall?" was his next question. "I d'n' know. Hain't seen 'im sence yesterday. He don't amount to much, anyway, and in these cases there ain't no dependin' on a boy like that. It's nachel fer girls to call on their mothers an' fathers in such cases." Anson was about to ask her what the trouble was with his girl, when she turned away. She could not be dangerously ill; anyway, there was comfort in that. After he had eaten a slight breakfast of bad coffee and yellow biscuits, Mrs. Stickney came back. "She's awake an' wants to see yeh. Now don't get excited. She ain't dangerous." Anson was alarmed and puzzled at her manner. Her smile mystified him. "What is the matter?" he demanded. Her reply was common enough, but it stopped him with his foot on the threshold. He understood at last. The majesty and mystery of birth was like a light in his face, and dazzled him. He was awed and exalted at the same time. "Open the door; I want to see her," he said in a new tone. As they entered the darkened chamber he heard his girl's eager cry. "Is that you, pap?" wailed her faint, sweet voice. "Yes: it's me, Flaxie." He crossed the room and knelt by the bed. She flung her arms round his neck. "O pappy! pappy! I wanted you. Oh, my poor mamma! O pap, I don't like her," she whispered, indicating the nurse with her eyes. "O pap, I hate to think of mother lying there in the snow--an' Bert--where is Bert, pap? Perhaps he's in the blizzard too--" "She's a little flighty," said the nurse in her matter-of-fact tone. Anson groaned as he patted the pale cheek of the sufferer. "Don't worry, Flaxie; Bert's all right. He'll come home soon. Why don't you send for the doctor?" he said to the nurse. "He'll be here soon. Don't worry over that," indicating Flaxen, who was whispering to herself. "They of'n do that." "Do you s'pose I can find my folks if I go back to Norway?" she said to Anson a little after. "Yes: I guess so, little one. When you get well, we'll try an' see." "Perhaps if I found my aunt she'd look like mamma, an' I'd know then how mamma looked, wouldn't I? Perhaps if the wheat is good this year we can go back an' find her, can't we?" Then her words melted into a moan of physical pain, and the nurse said: "Now I guess you'd better go an' see if you can't hurry the doctor up. Yes: now he's got to go," she went on to Flaxen, drowning out her voice and putting her imploring hands back upon the bed. Anson saw it all now. In her fear and pain she had turned to him--poor, motherless little bird--forgetting her boy-husband or feeling the need of a broader breast and stronger hand. It was a beautiful trust, and as the great, shaggy man went out into the morning he was exalted by the thought. "My little babe--my Flaxen!" he said with unutterable love and pity.