"Doctor," said the old lady, snapping her eyes, "I never can argue with you but you are sure to get off the track, sooner or later; there is no need of your telling all, you know. Suppose I was always alluding to your wig, how would you like it?" CHAPTER XIX. Winter had set in. The snow in soft, white piles, barred up the cottage door, and hung shelving over the barn-roof and fences; while every tiny twig and branch bent heavily, with its soft fleecy burthen. "Papa" was to go to the city that morning in a sleigh. Daisy had already heard the bells tinkling at the barn-door, as Pat necklaced Romeo, who stood pawing and snorting, as if it were fine fun to plough five miles of unbroken road into the city. Daisy had turned Papa's over-coat sleeves inside out, and warmed them thoroughly at the fire; she had tied on his moccasins, and had thrown his fur collar round his neck; and now she stood holding his warm cap and furred gloves, while he and mamma were saying their usual good-bye. "Take care of that cough, Daisy," said Harry; "don't come to the door, darling, to breathe in this keen air. Kiss your hand to papa, from the window;" and Harry scratched the frost away with his finger nails from the window-pane, that Daisy might see him start. "Oh, how pretty!" exclaimed the child, as Pat tossed the bright, scarlet-lined buffalo robe into the sleigh, and tucked the corners snugly over his master's feet, and Romeo, inspirited by the merry tinkle of the bells and the keen frosty air, stood on his hind legs and playfully held up his fore feet; "Oh, how pretty!" Harry turned his head as he gathered the reins in his hand; his cap was crowded down so snugly over his forehead, and his fur collar turned up so closely about his chin, that only a glimpse of his dark eye and fine Roman nose was visible. One wave of the hand, and the light, feathery snow flew, on either side, from under Romeo's flying heels--and Papa was out of sight. CHAPTER XX. "Why in the world, Ruth, are you wandering about there, like a ghost, in the moonlight?" said Harry, rubbing open his sleepy eyes. "Hist, Harry! listen to Daisy's breathing; it sounds as if it came through a brazen tube. She must be ill." "Little wife, don't torment yourself. She has only a bad cold, which, of course, appears worse at night. Her breathing is irregular, because her head is too low. Give her this pillow: there; now she's comfortable. What a frightened little puss you are! Your hand trembles as if you had the palsy; now go to sleep; it must be near two o'clock; you'll be sick yourself to-morrow:" and Harry, wearied out with an annoying day of business, was soon fast asleep. Only the eye of God watches like a mother's. Ruth could not sleep. She was soon again at Daisy's side, with her fingers upon her wrist, and her eye fixed upon the child's face; marking every contortion of feature, noting every change of posture.