"I'll tell you the reason, my child. It is for the love of my old home and the memory of my young days. Till I was as old as you are, and a little older, I lived among the mountains and upon them; and after that for many a year they were just before my eyes every day, stretching away for more than _one_ hundred miles, and piled up one above another, fifty times as big as any you ever saw; these are only molehills to them. I loved them--oh, how I love them still! If I have one unsatisfied wish," said the old lady, turning to Alice, "it is to see my Alps again; but that will never be. Now, Miss Ellen, it is not that I fancy, when I get to the top of this hill, that I am among my own mountains, but I can breathe better here than down in the plain. I feel more free; and in the village I would not live for gold, unless that duty bade me." "But all alone, so far from everybody?" said Ellen. "I am never lonely; and, old as I am, I don't mind a long walk or a rough road any more than your young feet do." "But isn't it very cold?" said Ellen. "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 all 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 November chill blaws loud wi' angry sough; The shortening winter day is near a close. --BURNS.