"I _must_ go over to Colletwood this week," said Mrs. Giles, "and I must take Nelly. Her new coat is waiting to be tried at the dressmaker's, and I must get her some boots and several other things before Christmas. And there is a whole list of other shopping too--all our Christmas presents to see to." Her husband was looking out of the window, it was still very early in the day. "I doubt if the snow will hold off much longer," he said. "And once it begins it may be heavy," his wife replied, "and then I might not be able to go for ever so long, even by the road,"--for a deep fall of snow at Scarby was practically a stoppage to all traffic. "I'll tell you what, Barnett, we'll go to-day and make sure of it. I will put other things aside and start before noon. A couple of hours, or three at the most, will do everything, and then Nelly and I will be back long before dark. You'll come to meet us, won't you?" "Of course I will--if you go. But," and again he glanced at the sky. The morning was, so far, clear and bright, though very cold, but over towards the north there was a suspicious look about the blue-grey clouds. "I don't know," he said, "but that you'd better wait till to-morrow and see if it blows off again." But Marion shook her head. "I've a feeling," she said, "that if I don't go to-day, I won't go at all. And I really must. I'll take Betsy to carry the child till we're just above the town, and then send her home, so as not to be tired for coming back. Not that I'm _ever_ tired, as you know," with a smile. He gave in, only stipulating that at all costs they should start to return by a certain hour, unless the snow should have already begun, in which case Marion was to run no risks, but either to hire a fly to bring her home by the road, or to stay in the town with some of her friends till the weather cleared again. "And I'll meet you," he added. "Let us set our watches together--I'll start from here so as to be at--let me see----" "Half-way between the stiles," said Marion. "We can each see the other from one stile to the opposite one, you know, even though it's a good bit of a way. Yes, dear, I'll time it as near as I can to meet half-way between the stiles." And with these words the last on her lips, she set off, a picture of health and happiness--little Nelly crowing back to "Dada" from over stout Betsy's shoulder. Betsy was home again within the hour. But the mother and child--alas and alas! It was the immortal story of "Lucy Gray" in an almost more pathetic shape.