Lydia stopped her sled against a drift and waited for Billy to cross the farmyard. He was a large, awkward boy several years older than Lydia. He seemed a very homely sort of person to her, yet she liked his face. He was as fair as Kent was dark. Kent's features were regular and clean-cut. Billy's were rough hewn and irregular, and his hair and lashes were straight and blond. What Lydia could not at this time appreciate was the fact that Billy's gray eyes were remarkable in the clarity and steadiness of their gaze, that his square jaw and mobile mouth were full of fine promise for his manhood and that even at sixteen the framework of his great body was magnificent. He never had paid any attention to Lydia before and she was bashful toward the older boys. "Say, Lydia, want a brace of duck? A lot of them settled at Warm Springs last night and I've got more than I can use." He leaned his gun against the fence and began to separate two birds from the bunch hanging over his shoulder. Lydia began to breathe quickly. The Dudleys could not afford a special Christmas dinner. "I--I don't know how I could pay you, Bill--" "Who wants pay?" asked Bill, indignantly. "I dasn't take anything without paying for it," returned Lydia, her eyes still on the ducks. "But I'd--I'd rather have those than a ship." Billy's clear gaze wandered from Lydia's thin little face to her patched mittens and back again. "Won't your father let you?" he asked. "I won't let myself," replied the little girl. "Oh!" said Billy, his gray eyes deepening. "Well, let me have the evergreens and you go back for some more. It'll save me getting Ma hers." With one thrust of her foot Lydia shoved the fragrant pile of boughs into the snow. She tied the brace of duck to the sled and started back toward the wood, then paused and looked back at Billy. "Thank you a hundred times," she called. "It was a business deal. No thanks needed," he replied. Lydia nodded and trudged off. The boy stood for a moment looking at the little figure, then he started after her. "Lydia, I'll get that load of pines for you." She tossed a vivid smile over her shoulder. "You will not. It's a business deal." And Billy turned back reluctantly toward the barn. In an hour Lydia was panting up the steps into the kitchen. Lizzie's joy was even more extreme than Lydia's. She thawed the ducks out and dressed them, after dinner, with the two children standing so close as at times seriously to impede progress. "I'm lucky," said Lydia. "There isn't anybody luckier than I am or has better things happen to 'em than I do. I'd rather be me than a water baby." "Baby not a water baby. Baby a duck," commented Patience, her hands full of bright feathers. "Baby is a duck," laughed Lydia. "Won't Daddy be glad!"