The wind closed the door violently behind her before she realized that the place was not empty. The feeble flame in the fireplace left the one room mostly in shadow, but it revealed the occupant, a weazened old man, wrapped in a faded quilt, sitting before the hearth. Talitha felt a sudden relief that she was not alone while such a storm raged outside. A man sick and perhaps in need of care was not to her an object of fear even though a stranger. “I declar’ if hit ain’t Tally Coyle!” came in wheezy tones from the depths of the bed-quilt. “I ’lowed you war off ter the valley school long ’fore this.” Talitha could hardly find her voice so great was her astonishment. She had gone farther out of her way than she knew to stumble upon her old teacher’s cabin. “Why, howdy, Mr. Quinn, you aren’t sick, are you?” she said, throwing down her bundle and shaking the raindrops from her moist skirts. “Jest ailin’ a leetle mite. I hevn’t been what you mought call robustious the hull summer, and last week I was took with a mis’ry in my chist. I’ve been honin’ the hull day ter see some one and here you’ve come. I reckon the Lord sent you.” The old man broke into a wheezing cough which left him panting. Talitha went to the fireplace and piled on fresh wood with a lavish hand. There was a brisk crackling as the flames shot upward merrily. “I’m going right to get supper,” she declared, forgetful of her weariness. Si Quinn spread his hands before the blaze with a sigh of content, and watched the girl as she bustled about the cabin. There was much to do before even a simple meal could be prepared, for the schoolmaster’s housekeeping even in health was sadly at variance with the methods Talitha had learned at school the past year. She brushed the floor as best she could with the stubby old broom, and then attacked the pile of soiled dishes energetically. Outside, the storm raged with fury, and a little rivulet trickled from under the door across the rough boards of the floor. Later the corn pone was set to baking, while the girl fried a platter of bacon and a dish of potatoes. In a corner of the fireplace, on a few coals among the hot ashes, the coffee pot sent forth an odour delightful to the nostrils of a half-famished man. Si Quinn sniffed it eagerly. “I hain’t set down ter sech a meal o’ vittles sence I war ter your house,” he remarked gleefully as he drew his chair to the table and helped himself liberally to the homely fare. “A squar’ meal will do me a heap more good’n medsun. If I war reel sodden in selfishness, I’d wish you hadn’t any kin and could stay right along here with me. But I ain’t, I’m thankful you’ve got a better place’n this ol’ shack.”