The snow fell faster and faster, and the gray day deepened to dusk. For a long time they drove along in silence, both busy with their own thoughts. Suddenly they were lurched violently forward as the horse shied at something in the bushes. Sandy leaned forward in time to see a figure on all fours plunging back into the shrubbery. "Annette," he whispered excitedly, "did you see that man's face?" "Yes," she said, clinging to his arm; "don't leave me, Sandy!" "What did he look like? Tell me, quick!" "He had little eyes like shoe-buttons, and his teeth stuck out. Do you suppose he was hiding?" "It was Ricks Wilson, or I am a blind man!" cried Sandy, standing up in the buggy and straining his eyes in the darkness. "Why, he's in jail!" "May I never trust me two eyes to speak the truth again if that wasn't Ricks!" When they started they found that the harness was broken, and all efforts to fix it were in vain. "It's half-past five now," cried Annette. "If I don't get home b-before dad, he'll have out the fire department." "There's a farm-house a good way back," said Sandy; "but it's too far for you to walk. Will you be waiting here in the buggy until I go for help?" "Well, I guess not!" said Annette, indignantly. Sandy looked at the round baby face beside him and laughed. "It's not one of meself that blames you," he said; "but how are we ever to get home?" Annette was not without resources. "What's the matter with riding the horse b-back to the farm?" "And you?" asked Sandy. "I'll ride behind." They became hilarious over the mounting, for the horse bitterly resented a double burden. When he found he could not dispose of it he made a dash for freedom, and raced over the frozen road at such a pace that they were soon at their destination. "He won the handicap," laughed Sandy as he lifted his disheveled companion to the ground. "It was glorious!" cried Annette, gathering up her flying locks. "I lost every hair-pin but one." At the farm-house they met with a warm reception. "Jes step right in the kitchen," said the farmer. "Mommer'll take care of you while I go out to the stable for some rope and another hoss." The kitchen was a big, cheerful room, full of homely comfort. Bright red window-curtains were drawn against the cold white world outside, and the fire crackled merrily in the stove. Sandy and Annette stood, holding out their hands to the friendly warmth. She was watching with interest the preparations for supper, but he had grown silent and preoccupied. The various diversions of the afternoon had acted as a temporary narcotic, through which he struggled again and again to wretched consciousness. A surge of contempt swept over him that he could have forgotten for a moment. He did not want to forget; he did not want to think of anything else. "They smell awfully g-good," whispered Annette. "What?" "The hoe-cakes. I didn't have any dinner." "Neither did I."