It was not without talk and a great deal of commotion that the untimely addition to James Norton's household effects was finally deposited in the darkened parlor; neither was it accomplished without some echo of the confusion reaching the sick-room, despite all efforts of concealment. Jim, perspiring, red-faced, and palpably nervous, was passing on tiptoe through the sitting-room when a quavering voice from the bedroom brought him to a halt. "Jim, is that you?" "Yes, Aunt Abby." "Who's come?" Jim's face grew white, then red. "C-ome?" he stammered. "Yes, I heard a sleigh and voices. Who is it?" "Why, jest-jest a man on--on business," he flung over his shoulder, as he fled through the hall. Not half an hour later came Ella's turn. In accordance with the sick woman's orders she had prepared tea, toast, and a boiled egg; but she had not set the tray on the bed when the old woman turned upon her two keen eyes. "Who's in the kitchen, Ella, with Jim?" Ella started guiltily. "Why, jest a--a man." "Who is it?" Ella hesitated; then, knowing that deceit was useless, she stammered out the truth. "Why, er--only Mr. Herrick." "Not William Herrick, the undertaker!" There was apparently only pleased surprise in the old woman's voice. "Yes," nodded Ella feverishly, "he had business out this way, and--and got snowed up," she explained with some haste. "Ye don't say," murmured the old woman. "Well, ask him in; I'd like ter see him." "Aunt Abby!"--Ella's teeth fairly chattered with dismay. "Yes, I'd like ter see him," repeated the old woman with cordial interest. "Call him in." And Ella could do nothing but obey. Herrick, however, did not stay long in the sick-room. The situation was uncommon for him, and not without its difficulties. As soon as possible he fled to the kitchen, telling Jim that it gave him "the creeps" to have her ask him where he'd started for, and if business was good. All that day it snowed and all that night; nor did the dawn of Friday bring clear skies. For hours the wind had swept the snow from roofs and hilltops, piling it into great drifts that grew moment by moment deeper and more impassable. In the farmhouse Herrick was still a prisoner. The sick woman was better. Even Jim knew now that it was no momentary flare of the candle before it went out. Mrs. Darling was undeniably improving in health. She had sat up several times in bed, and had begun to talk of wrappers and slippers. She ate toast, eggs, and jellies, and hinted at chicken and beefsteak. She was weak, to be sure, but behind her, supporting and encouraging, there seemed to be a curious strength--a strength that sent a determined gleam to her eyes, and a grim tenseness to her lips.