"Before you drop the curtain—-I'm reminded: You recollect the boy who came out here To breathe the air one winter—-had a room Down at the Averys'? Well, one sunny morning After a downy storm, he passed our place And found me banking up the house with snow. And I was burrowing in deep for warmth, Piling it well above the window-sills. The snow against the window caught his eye. 'Hey, that's a pretty thought'—-those were his words. 'So you can think it's six feet deep outside, While you sit warm and read up balanced rations. You can't get too much winter in the winter.' Those were his words. And he went home and all But banked the daylight out of Avery's windows. Now you and I would go to no such length. At the same time you can't deny it makes It not a mite worse, sitting here, we three, Playing our fancy, to have the snowline run So high across the pane outside. There where There is a sort of tunnel in the frost More like a tunnel than a hole—-way down At the far end of it you see a stir And quiver like the frayed edge of the drift Blown in the wind. I _like_ that—-I like that. Well, now I leave you, people." "Come, Meserve, We thought you were deciding not to go—- The ways you found to say the praise of comfort And being where you are. You want to stay." "I'll own it's cold for such a fall of snow. This house is frozen brittle, all except This room you sit in. If you think the wind Sounds further off, it's not because it's dying; You're further under in the snow—-that's all—- And feel it less. Hear the soft bombs of dust It bursts against us at the chimney mouth, And at the eaves. I like it from inside More than I shall out in it. But the horses Are rested and it's time to say good-night, And let you get to bed again. Good-night, Sorry I had to break in on your sleep." "Lucky for you you did. Lucky for you You had us for a half-way station To stop at. If you were the kind of man Paid heed to women, you'd take my advice And for your family's sake stay where you are. But what good is my saying it over and over? You've done more than you had a right to think You could do—-_now._ You know the risk you take In going on." "Our snow-storms as a rule Aren't looked on as man-killers, and although I'd rather be the beast that sleeps the sleep Under it all, his door sealed up and lost, Than the man fighting it to keep above it, Yet think of the small birds at roost and not In nests. Shall I be counted less than they are? Their bulk in water would be frozen rock In no time out to-night. And yet to-morrow They will come budding boughs from tree to tree Flirting their wings and saying Chickadee, As if not knowing what you meant by the word storm." "But why when no one wants you to go on? Your wife—-she doesn't want you to. We don't, And you yourself don't want to. Who else is there?"