“Yes, it wuz,” responded Gabriel. “An’ how under the sun an’ moon an’ seven stars he ever got here through them drifts! How did ’e git here, anyhow? He couldn’t ’a’ druv. They couldn’t no hoss ’a’ got through. He couldn’t ’a’ walked. Goliath o’ Gath couldn’t ’a’ walked it. An’ ’e didn’t fly. How _did_ ’e git here, anyhow?” “I don’t know, Gabriel. I hadn’t thought of it. How did he?” The two men gazed at each other with a look of astonishment in their faces that slowly grew into awe. Then Gabriel lifted his eyes and pointed heavenward. “God a’mighty,” he said reverently. “He done it fer ’im. Nobody else could.” Then, for many minutes, the two men sat in silence. Gabriel was the first to speak. “He’ll be goin’ home with ’im now, I reckon. I seen ’em start to’ards the depot.” “Yes,” replied Charlie, rising and going again to the window; “but I doubt whether they will get farther than Port Lenox to-night. The trains will be late, and the roads will not be broken. Poor boy! I shall be glad to feel that he is at home with Aunt Martha, resting from his physical strain, relieved of his mental burden. Well, Gabriel, let’s go back into court. I don’t suppose they’ll want us any more, but we’ll see what they are doing with the case.” But court had adjourned. As the two men passed out into the hall the people from the court room came crowding by. Among them was Nicholson, the Delaware Valley and Eastern engineer. When he saw Gabriel his face lighted up with a smile. “Hello, my bumptious friend!” he shouted; “where’s your horn?” “Left it to hum,” replied Gabriel, readily, “to scare off tramp engineers ’at might come ’round settin’ stakes in the snow-drifts.” “Are you going to leave it home when you die, or will you take it along?” “Oh! I’ll hev it with me on that trip. You can borrow it occasionally ef you want to. Blowin’ on it once’t in a w’ile’s a great relief to them in misery.” A crowd was gathering, and Gabriel’s sally was greeted with a shout of approval. It nettled Nicholson, and he turned away. He did not care for fun unless he himself could be the beneficiary. “Children and fools--” he muttered, “the old saying still holds good.” “Say!” called Gabriel after him; “did you ever hear of ol’ Isra’l Pidgin?” “Oh, yes!” was the quick reply, “he was an idiot that lived up in York State.” “Yes. ’Member wut he said about the feller ’at goes ’round with a chip on ’is shoulder lookin’ fer somebody to knock it off?” Nicholson did not reply. “Well,” continued Gabriel, “he says, says ’e, ‘that feller’s lucky ef ’e don’t git ’is shoulder put out o’ jint a gittin’ of the chip knocked off,’ says ’e.” But Nicholson had disappeared. He was pushing his way down the winding staircase, satisfied that, in the estimation of the crowd, he was no match for Gabriel, and anxious to escape. In the lower hall he met Charlie Pickett. He went up to him with outstretched hand, for he was generous as well as impetuous.