"Yes, it is very cold? — what of that? I make a good blazing fire; and then I like to hear the wind whistle." "Yes, but you wouldn't like to have it whistling inside as well as out," said Alice. "I will come and do the listing and caulking for you in a day or two. Oh, you have it done without me! I am sorry." "No need to be sorry, dear — I am glad; you don't look fit for any troublesome jobs." "I am fit enough," said Alice. "Don't put up the curtains; I'll come and do it." "You must come with a stronger face, then," said her old friend; "have you wearied yourself with walking all this way?" "I was a little weary," said Alice, "but your nice tea has made me up again." "I wish I could keep you all night," said Mrs. Vawse, looking out; "but your father would be uneasy. I am afraid the storm will catch you before you get home; and you aren't fit to breast it. Little Ellen, too, don't look as if she was made of iron. Can't you stay with me?" "I must not — it wouldn't do," said Alice, who was hastily putting on her things; "we'll soon run down the hill. But we are leaving you alone — where's Nancy?" "She'll not come if there's a promise of a storm," said Mrs. Vawse; "she often stays out a night." "And leaves you alone!" "I am never alone," said the old lady, quietly; "I have nothing to fear; but I am uneasy about you, dear. Mind my words; don't try to go back the way you came; take the other road; it's easier; and stop when you get to Mrs. Van Brunt's; Mr. Van Brunt will take you the rest of the way in his little waggon." "Do you think it is needful?" said Alice, doubtfully. "I am sure it is best. Hasten down. _Adieu, mon enfant_." They kissed and embraced her, and hurried out. CHAPTER XIX. Showing that in certain circumstances white is black. The clouds hung thick and low; the wind was less than it had been. They took the path Mrs. Vawse had spoken of; it was broader and easier than the other, winding more gently down the mountain; it was sometimes, indeed, travelled by horses, though far too steep for any kind of carriage. Alice and Ellen ran along without giving much heed to anything but their footing — down, down — running and bounding, hand in hand, till want of breath obliged them to slacken their pace. "Do you think it will snow soon?" asked Ellen. "I think it will snow — how soon, I cannot tell. Have you had a pleasant afternoon?" "Oh, very!" "I always have when I go there. Now, Ellen, there is an example of contentment for you. If ever a woman loved husband and children and friends, Mrs. Vawse loved hers; I know this from those who knew her long ago; and now, look at her. Of them all, she has none left but the orphan daughter of her youngest son, and you know a little what sort of a child that is." "She must be a very bad girl," said Ellen; "you can't think what stories she told me about her grandmother."