Donald found Tibby sitting dejectedly by the stove, her feet upon the fender and her dimpled chin resting upon her pink, upturned palm, while her eyes studied intently the red coals before her. This was the picture of which he caught a glimpse through the low window as he approached the door. At the sound of his footsteps she sprang up and came forward to meet him, the scarlet flame of the fire blazing in cheek and lip. “It is so nice of you to come,” she said, giving him her hand in welcome. “You have been so shy of receiving thanks that you have remained away an age.” “I am glad if it has seemed an age to you,” he answered, smiling. “One likes to have his absence noticed.” “I didn’t realize how much—how very much I am indebted to you,” she began shyly. “Don’t, please, Miss Tibby. You know there is no question of debts or credits between friends. I am thankful God gave me strength and direction to find you. It is a serious thing to battle with the elements in the West, Miss Waring.” Donald spoke gently and soberly. “I realize it now. Can you ever forgive me for my dreadful talk that morning?” Tibby’s lip quivered slightly and she dropped her eyes. “Why, was it dreadful? I don’t remember it to have been so.” “And my wilfulness in going against your—advice?” she continued, resolved to finish her confession. “Ah, that was nothing strange. One could not expect an Eastern born-and-bred maiden to be weather-wise on the prairies or realize the kind of storms we have here until she had some experience with them.” “But she might have sense enough to take some one else’s word for it,” Tibby replied, tapping the floor with her foot. “Ah, Miss Tibby, I’m afraid we all like to experience for ourselves. We don’t relish excitements second-hand, nor always have faith in the words of others.” “Well,—I—hope I’m forgiven,” Tibby faltered. “Indeed, yes, if there was anything to forgive. I didn’t think there was. In fact, I am sure there was nothing of the kind. However, it must be pleasant to exercise the divine function and have no room in one’s heart to remember a wrong. How pleasant this fire is. Nature makes recompense for all the cold and storm outside by giving us the blessing of fire.” “Yes,” absently replied Tibby, twirling her handkerchief about her finger, and gazing before her in abstraction. “I am afraid you are thinking, Miss Tibby,” Donald said, after an interval of silence, in which both had studied the fire. Tibby turned and looked at him with challenging eyes. “Would you know of what I am thinking?” she asked. “If I might dare ask so much, yes.” “I was wondering what one should do who has done what she regrets.” “Undo it, if she can,” Donald replied, speaking lightly. “What is it you do when you are sewing? Pull out the wrong stitches and do it all over again, do you not?” “I wonder if you could or would help me in the undoing.”