Abner and Esther stood for a bewildered minute, staring at the rough unpainted boards through which this astonishing inquiry had come. I scrambled to my feet and kicked aside the tick and blankets. Whatever else happened, it did not seem likely that there was any more sleeping to be done. Then the farmer strode forward and dragged one of the doors back on its squeaking rollers. Some snow fell in upon his boots from the ridge that had formed against it over night. Save for a vaguely faint snow-light in the air, it was still dark. “Yes, she's here,” said Abner, with his hand on the open door. “Then I'd like to know—” the invisible Jee began excitedly shouting from without. “Sh-h! You'll wake everybody up!” the farmer interposed. “Come inside, so that I can shut the door.” “Never under your roof!” came back the shrill hostile voice. “I swore I never would, and I won't!” “You'd have to take a crowbar to get under my roof,” returned Abner, grimly conscious of a certain humor in the thought. “What's left of it is layin' over yonder in what used to be the cellar. So you needn't stand on ceremony on _that_ account. I ain't got no house now, so't your oath ain't bindin'. Besides, the Bible says, ‘Swear not at all!’” A momentary silence ensued; then Abner rattled the door on its wheels. “Well, what are you goin' to do?” he asked, impatiently. “I can't keep this door open all night, freezin' everybody to death. If you won't come in, you'll have to stay out!” and again there was an ominous creaking of the rollers. “I want my da'ater!” insisted Jehoiada, vehemently. “I stan' on a father's rights.” “A father ain't got no more right to make a fool of himself than anybody else,” replied Abner, gravely. “What kind of a time o' night is this, with the snow knee-deep, for a girl to be out o' doors? She's all right here, with my women-folks, an' I'll bring her down with the cutter in the mornin'—that is, if she wants to come. An' now, once for all, will you step inside or not?” Esther had taken up the lantern and advanced with it now to the open door. “Come in, father,” she said, in tones which seemed to be authoritative. “They've been very kind to me. Come in!” Then, to my surprise, the lean and scrawny figure of the cooper emerged from the darkness, and stepping high over the snow, entered the barn, Abner sending the door to behind him with a mighty sweep of the arm. Old Hagadorn came in grumbling under his breath, and stamping the snow from his feet with sullen kicks. He bore a sledge-stake in one of his mittened hands. A worsted comforter was wrapped around his neck and ears and partially over his conical-peaked cap. He rubbed his long thin nose against his mitten and blinked sulkily at the lantern and the girl who held it. “So here you be!” he said at last, in vexed tones. “An' me traipsin' around in the snow the best part of the night lookin' for you!”