"It’s a noble pile you’ve cut, Mr. Law," she said. "For a painter-man you’re not the useless truck one might expect. Mr. Law, I’ll think of you often when I burn this wood. And now that I’m rather soft in my feelings for your sex—those hurt boys have pleaded for you—I might as well tell you that I’m going to put my stove in the outhouse and open up the chimney in the living room." "Mam’selle! This is surrender indeed! A triumph of soul over matter!" cried Law. "This winter you can think of me toasting my shins and shivering up the back, Mr. Law." Jo smiled broadly. Anderson Law threw his head back and laughed. Jo’s plain, unvarnished Anglo-Saxon was like a northwest wind to his mind. And just then the postman jogged in sight, reading the postcards with relish and letting his old horse find his own way along the road. "Where is Donelle?" Law was asking as the mail man paused at the gate. Jo’s eyes darkened. "Knitting and thinking down in the river-cabin. Nick’s with her. Mr. Law, there are times when I think that dog has a soul." "I never doubt it, Mam’selle. One look in his eyes is enough. But what, now, about Nick?" "When he thinks the child has been alone long enough he goes after her. She says he tugs at her skirt until she follows. He cries if she holds back. Mr. Law, I fear Donelle is—is—taking to Tom’s road." Poor Jo turned away. "Nonsense, Mam’selle." Law often thought this, too, so his denial was doubly intense. "We’ll find a way yet to get Donelle on the road that belongs to her. Ah! a letter," he broke in, seeing the postman waving an envelope from the cart. Law went forward and took the letter, tore it open, and read the few words enclosed. It was from his lawyer. For a moment Anderson Law could not speak. The bright day seemed suddenly to darken. Then he said slowly, though his thoughts were swift: "Mam’selle, Jim Norval is back in New York. He’s not able to see just now; something’s gone wrong with his eyes, and his legs, too. There’s hope, but I must go." Then, as if inspired, "Mam’selle, I must take Donelle." "No!" Jo sprang back as if Law had hit her. "Mam’selle, I must take Donelle. Have these hurt boys, here, not taught you a lesson?" "But, Mr. Law, this is not decent." "Norval’s wife died last summer, Mam’selle. He went abroad because there was nothing else for him to do. Now may I have Donelle?" Jo reflected. "But it will kill her," she said half-heartedly, "the strangeness. And what may happen." "It will cure her," Law went on; "no matter what happens. She’s part of it all; she must bear what is hers." "Mr. Law——" "Ah! Mam’selle," and here Anderson Law took Jo’s hand, "there is so little, after all, that we older ones can do for them. May I have Donelle?" "Yes. God help us all, Mr. Law." And poor Jo bowed her head.