A smell of wet pine filled the lane, but though the way was very dark and a little lonely, Jean Varian hurried on, halting at last with a smothered sigh of envy. For here in the heart of the dripping pine-trees, lay a tiny cottage, so white and trim and cheery that even the croon of the gallant pines that brushed the roof bore in it nothing of the night's melancholy. Now the light that twinkled among the pine-needles and the rain-glisten of the night came from a lamp held through an open porch-window from within by the hand of a tiny woman with a shawl about her head, and even as Jean stared wonderingly, the watcher in the window spoke. "_Good_ evening!" she called brightly. "It is so very windy and wet to-night. Perhaps I can persuade you to step in and have a cup of hot tea with me!" "But--but," stammered Jean from the rain and shadows, "I--I did not dream you could see me!" "Why, neither I can, my dear!" briskly replied the little woman, "but many a cold and weary straggler from the night train sees my light and whenever I call there is, as a rule, an answer! And now,"--with an energetic cordiality wonderfully compelling--"if you will please come straight up the walk and open the front door, you'll find a fire and a welcome just as warm. Why, bless your tired heart," she added with a quick, birdlike turn of her muffled head that brought the light upon her face, "my kettle is singing away here like a cricket. Do hurry!" Wonderingly, Jean obeyed. Who could withstand the irresistible warmth of the little woman's hospitality? And with the opening of the cottage door, the astonished guest left all the chill and melancholy of the winter night behind her, for here in a snugly-curtained room roared a rollicking, jovial blade of a wood-fire, waggishly throwing the reflection of his ever-busy fire-sword upon the old-fashioned walls and checkerboard carpet, the oval portraits and the snowy supper cloth, trimly decked in china blue, all the while filling the room with his boisterous crackles and chuckles of delight! And steaming madly away in spirited rivalry over an alcohol blaze, a handsome brass kettle, ludicrously fat and complacent, hummed a throaty jubilate of self-approval. Surely the splendid emperor of all kettles! thought Jean Varian, smiling, this exuberant egotist with his polished armor and his plume of steam! "And such a vain fellow, too, my dear!" chirped an amused voice at Jean's elbow, "but then he's such a very cheerful comrade I forgive him that!" and the girl starting, found herself smiling warmly down into the face of her hostess. And what a tiny hostess she was to be sure, quite as trim and picturesque in her white woolen gown as the cottage itself. Snow-white, too, her hair, framing a fine old face with eyes of china blue, eyes so bright and friendly that Jean unconsciously likened them to the light among the pines. And like the odor of pine about the cottage, an aura of cheeriness hovered about the owner.