This Mr. and Mrs. Blake, however, would not permit, saying it was foolish, and that Moth was in Appletop and would give me trouble, while I could do nothing. This only made me the more determined, for I thought there was something back that had not been disclosed, but of what nature I could form no idea. Nor did it matter, for nothing could be worse than Uncle Job’s plight and the crime he was accused of. That he had done any wrong I did not for a moment believe. He who was incapable of even a bad thought! Thus the day wore itself out amid my entreaties, the night closing in somber and gray, with a light fall of snow. My determination in nowise changed, I excused myself when supper was over, and going to my room, slipped on a heavy jacket, and opening the window jumped to the ground. Hastening, I reached the old abandoned road, sure my absence would not be discovered until morning; but in any event, I would not return, for they had no claim on me, and as for Moth, I no longer cared for him, so great was my distress over Uncle Job’s unhappy plight. The storm in which I now found myself was mild to a degree, and such as country people like to face. Coming on lightly from the south, with scarce any wind, the snow did not fly here and there as we sometimes see it, but came in great wavering flakes, each lying where it fell, and softly, as if the particles followed some order of things laid down from the beginning, so deft were they and free from bustle or any show of activity. Walking and partly running, the soft flakes falling on my face cooled my blood and stimulated my strength, so that I looked forward to my journey with something akin to pleasure. A moon half full lessened the somber gray of the sky, bringing out in glad relief the myriad forms built up by the snow on either side of the half-hidden path. The stillness of the night and the seclusion of the forest soothed and rested my mind, worn with the events of the day, and in that mood I hurried on, refreshed and comforted by the contrast. All my life I had been thus abroad, and the breaking of a twig or creaking of a limb under the piled-up snow did not startle me as it would some, but came like the welcome of a friend. In this way I ran on, elated, sometimes singing lightly, but observing all that came within my view, and more particularly the curious forms built up by the fast-falling shower. Of these, some appeared to welcome the storm, while others stood aloof in gloomy reproof. Thus the staring, upright limbs of the maple would have none of it, but spurned the gentle drops as a woman might a soft caress, neither seeking nor accepting grace of any kind. The hickory and wild crab, too, looked black and sour in the twilight, as if viewing what was going on with no kindly spirit. Drooping and in loving embrace, in reproof of the others, the elms caught up great armfuls of the falling flakes and held them tenderly, as a mother might an ailing child. The