“It’s Mrs. La Fay,” whispered Harry. “She’s come back.” “Jules! Jules!” said the woman; and then her tones, either of excuse or pleading, dropped so low the boys did not catch the words. “We’d better go back,” suggested John. “I say I want to hear no more,” Jules continued fiercely. “The quicker you get off the premises, the better.” The woman looked at him in silence a moment, then turned short around and walked with quick steps away. La Fay stood frowning, with clenched fists, in the doorway. In the farther corner of the kitchen “the young one” was crouched in a chair, crying. The boys had turned away, but the drama had come to a sudden termination and they approached again. [Illustration: DECEMBER] La Fay saw them. “She’s been back,” he said; “but I’ve sent her packing again. She came early this morning while I was away. She was here through the storm.” It was a painful subject, and John hastened to say that they had packed up ready to go to the train. “My horse is out there by the barn hitched into my lumber-wagon,” said La Fay, “but I’ll change him into the carryall. I’ll be ready inside of ten minutes.” [Illustration: A PATH IN THE WINTER WOODS] “All right, then,” John responded; “we’ve got a little more to do to our bundles, and we’ll be over there with them.” At the edge of the woods they looked up the road leading away from the clearing, and just beyond sight of the house they saw the woman again. Her arms were about her head, and she was leaning face forward against a big chestnut-tree. Once she clasped her hands and gave a sudden look upward. Then she resumed the former position. The boys went down to their camp and did their final packing. The sunshine was becoming warmer. The wind was blowing more briskly, and it kept the grasses swaying and the leaves of the trees in a perpetual glitter of motion. In the aisles of the wood a thrush was chanting its beautiful song. From the hollow sounded the never-ceasing roar of the fall. La Fay appeared, bundles were packed into the carriage, and they were off. They had just entered the road leading to the highway, when Harry spied a shawl lying at the foot of a tall chestnut. “What’s that?” he asked. La Fay drew in his horse and Harry jumped out and picked it up. He handed it to La Fay. “Why,” said the man, “that’s Mary’s. She must have dropped it.” [Illustration: WINDY WINTER--ON THE WAY HOME FROM SCHOOL] He laid it across his knee and said nothing for a long time. Indeed, they were more than half-way to the depot before he spoke more. Then he fell to stroking the shawl gently with his right hand and said. “Mary ain’t done right. I know it; I know it. Poor girl! she’s had a rough time since she’s been away. I don’t know but I ought to have been easier with her. And I like her still I don’t get over that, someway. I can’t help it. If the past was blotted out, I’d do anything for her.” He spoke all this slowly and meditatively.