Sally was much surprised. She was so much surprised that the blood surged into her cheeks in a flood. That was a greater effect than could have been produced by acid sarcasm in any amount. The professor might have noted that. Perhaps he did. "Good-morning, father," Sally replied, smiling. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then, yielding to her impulse, she put her arm around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. "Good-morning." And she went quickly to her seat, her cheeks blazing. The professor was so astonished at this act of Sally's,--an act as difficult to foresee and to provide against as an act of God,--he was so thoroughly astonished, I say, that he spilled some of the coffee which had no cream in it. But let us hope he would not have wanted to provide against that act of God. "Well, Sally," he said, laughing lightly, "it's surprising to think what the weather can do when it tries. Only yesterday afternoon, bare ground and scarcely a hint of what was coming. Now, here we are, tied up." "Tied up?" Sally asked. "Tied up," he repeated. "There's little doubt about it. No milkman." He waved his hand. "And there'll be no grocer and no anybody else. You'll see. No butcher--meat man--we don't have butchers, now. Just think of that, Sally. No meat until spring. How will you like that? We should have been keeping chickens and pigs and we ought to have cows and a calf or two. Then I would take my axe in my hand and my knife and I would sally out to the barn. You would hear sounds of murder and we should have fresh meat. Fresh meat!" The professor looked ferocious. "And no trains," he added meditatively. "I haven't heard a train this morning and I don't expect to." "Well," said Sally, "you don't have to take them. What do you care?" "Ah, true," he replied in the same meditative tone. "Very just, Sally. I don't have to take them, and what do I care? What do I? Answer, nothing." The professor waved his hand again and drank his coffee. An irrepressible chuckle came from Sally. She said nothing, but waited for her father to resume. He always did resume when he was in this mood, which was not often. He put down his empty cup. "And what do we do? We finish our breakfast, which may be a matter of some time, judging from quantity alone." He pointed to Sally's plate and to Charlie's. Charlie had been eating industriously ever since he sat down. "We finish our breakfast and we loaf awhile, and then we bundle up and try to shovel out; you, Sally, and I and Charlie." Here he pointed a finger at Charlie, who emitted a roar of delight. "An' can I shovel with my little snow-shovel? Can I?" The professor poured for himself another cup of coffee. "You are to have the felicity of shoveling with your little snow-shovel, Charlie. See that you do good work with it. And Sally shall take the _middle-sized_ snow-shovel, and I will take the GREAT BIG snow-shovel." Another roar from Charlie, who began to eat faster.