At the little depot at the Centre, the station master stood upon the platform looking anxiously up the track, hoping to see the light of an approaching train. "'Most three hours late," muttered the man. "I'd like ter know if it ain't er comin' ter-night." As he turned to re-enter the depot, a faint whistle made itself heard above the clamor of the wind and turning he saw the headlight of the engine coming around the bend. "There she is naow," he remarked, and as the train stopped, the mail bag was quickly thrown out upon the platform and instantly picked up and carried into the depot. The station agent did not dream that anyone would arrive so late in the village on such a night, so having secured the mail bag, he allowed the train to depart without even a glance at its receding form. One passenger, however, stepped from the car who evidently was not expecting friends to meet her, as she immediately left the platform and walked briskly up the road as if familiar with the place, and sure of the direction which she must take to reach her destination. What had been a high wind during the day, now became a gale, and the solitary figure wrapped her cloak closer about her and pushed resolutely on, never pausing, yet at times looking hastily over her shoulder as if fearful of a possible pursuer. As she passed a deserted farm house, a sudden gust of wind blew one of its dilapidated blinds against the window, shattering the glass with a resounding crash. With a scream the girl sprang forward, then, half wild with fright she ran with a headlong pace up the road. The promise of the leaden sky was now fulfilled, the falling sleet cutting the girl's white cheeks, and serving to make the night more cheerless. Again she tried to draw the folds of her cloak about her, but the wind snatched it from her fingers and blew it back and she was obliged to stop and, for a moment, turn her back to the gale until she could securely fasten the clasps which held it. Her hands shook with cold and fear, and when she turned about and tried once more to run she found that her limbs were weak with terror and that her progress must be slow. The great branches of the trees groaned in the wind, as if crying out against such rough handling, and the snow fell faster as the girl dragged herself along the lonely road. * * * * * "The cauld increases," said Sandy. "I'll stir the fire an' throw on anither log." "It's snawin'," announced Janie, as she emerged from behind the window shade and ran to the fireplace, where she seated herself beside Sir Walter, her arm about his neck. "Ain't ye glad ye're na scurryin' after the sheep at hame, ye big auld dear?" asked Janie. The collie laid his head lovingly against her shoulder, as if agreeing, and Tam, seeing the caress, looked as if he thought Janie's taste in her choice of pets deteriorating.