He knew so much more about the world than she did that she found his talk interesting. The glimpse she had had of San Francisco had whetted her appetite. Were other cities like the one by the Golden Gate, gay and full of life and fashion which young girls at a finishing school were not permitted to see? He told her of London and Paris and Vienna, and her innocent credulity accepted what he said at face value. He had the gift of talk, the manner of a man of the world. From the confident ease of his descriptions she could not guess that he had never been in Paris or Vienna and only once in London for a flying visit to float a mining scheme. “You’ll not be going to the mine to-day, dearie,” Mrs. Budd said to Vicky one Saturday morning when the hills were white with a blanket of snow. “Yes. I promised Oscar to bring his mail and some tobacco. Besides, I want to see how he’s been getting along.” “If you take my advice you’ll stay comfy at home and not go traipsing all over the hills gettin’ your feet an’ your skirts wet.” One of the things Vicky rarely did was to accept advice and follow it. A fault of her years and of her temperament was that she had to gain her wisdom through experience. “I love to get out in the snow and tramp in it,” Vicky said cheerfully, helping herself to another hot biscuit. “And I’ll not get wet if I wear arctics and tuck up my skirts when I’m out of town.” “Hmp! If you’re set on it you’ll go. I know that well enough. But you’ll come home early, won’t you? There’s a lot more snow up in the sky yet, and by night we’re likely to have some of it.” Vicky promised. When she struck the trail to Bald Knob she discovered that the snow was deeper than she had supposed. But there was a well-beaten track as far as the shoulder of the ridge. Beyond that she had to break a path for herself. It was heavy work. She grew tired long before she reached the mine. But she kept going rather than turn back. It was nearly two o’clock when Sorenson answered her hail. Vicky did not stay long at the mine. She did not like the look of the sky. The wind was rising, too, and the temperature falling. Once she thought of asking Sorenson to go back to town with her, but she scouted the idea promptly and dismissed it. It did not agree with her view of the self-reliance she was cultivating. Incidentally, too, Sorenson was a lazy, sulky fellow who would resent taking any unnecessary trouble. She did not want to put herself under an obligation to him. The wind had sifted a good deal of snow into the tracks she had made on the way down from the shoulder of the hill. It came now in great swirling gusts, filling the air with the light surface snow. By the time she had passed the Dodson properties the wind had risen to a gale, a biting wintry hurricane that almost lifted her from her feet. A stinging sleet swept into her face and blinded her. She found it difficult to make out the way.