Opening the white gate, he went up the deep and narrow path between snow banks to the white house. At the top of the short flight of steps that led to the winter porch that inclosed the front door, he looked over his shoulder and saw Todder still staring at him. Peter grinned and waved his hand, then opened the door of the porch. As he closed the door behind him, the house door opened wide before him. Vivia stood on the threshold. She stared at him with her eyes very round and her lips parted, but she did not move or speak. She held her slim hands clasped before her--clasped so tight that the knuckles were colorless. Her small face, which had been as pale as her clasped hands at the first glimpse, turned suddenly as red as a rose; and her eyes, which had been very bright even to their wonderful depths, were dimmed suddenly with a shimmer of tears. And for a long time--for ten full seconds, it may have been--Peter also stood motionless and stared. The heavy stick slipped from his fingers and fell with a clatter on the floor of the porch. He stepped forward then and enfolded her in his khaki-clad arms, safe and sure against the big brass buttons of his greatcoat; and just then the door of the porch opened, and Mr. Todder said: "I ain't got the hang of yer remarks yet, young feller." "Chase yourself away home," replied Peter, without turning his head; and there was something in the tone of his voice that caused Mr. Todder to withdraw his head from the porch and to retire, muttering, to his sled. Vivia had not paid the slightest heed to the interruption. She drew Peter into the hall. "I was afraid," she whispered. "I didn't know how much they had hurt you, Peter--but I wasn't afraid of that. I should love you just as much if they had crippled you,--I am so selfish in my love, Peter,--but I was afraid, at first, that I might see a change in your eyes." "There couldn't be a change in my eyes when I look at you, unless I were blind," said Peter. "Even if I were blind, I guess I could see you. But I am the same as I was, inside and out--all except a bit of a patent leg." Just then Mrs. Hammond made her discreet appearance, expressed her joy and surprise at the sight of Peter and ventured a motherly kiss. Mr. Hammond came in from the store half an hour later and welcomed Peter cordially. The man had lost weight, and his face was grim. He got Peter to himself for a few minutes just before supper. "Jim is still on the other side the border somewhere, I guess," he said, "though I haven't heard from him for months. I've kept the shooting business quiet, Peter--and even about his deserting; but I had to tell his mother and Vivia that he wasn't any good as a soldier and had gone away. I made up some kind of story about it. Other people think he's in France, I guess--even your folks at Beaver Dam. But what do you hear of Pat? He isn't much of a hand at writing letters, but was well when he wrote last to his mother."