"Kate, did you mean what you just said to that girl?" Sanderson asked when they were alone. "What did I say? Oh, yes, about the love letters. Well, what difference does it make whether I meant it or not?" "It makes all the difference in the world to me, Kate." He read refusal in the big blue eyes, and he made haste to plead his cause before she could say anything. "Don't answer yet, Kate; don't give me my life-sentence," he said playfully, taking her hand. "Think it over; take as long as you like. Hope with you is better than certainty with any other woman." [Illustration: Lillian Gish and Burr McIntosh.] Professor Sterling, who had been to a neighboring town on business for the past two or three days, walked into the middle of this little tableau in time to hear the last sentence. Kate and Sanderson had failed to hear him, partly because he had neglected to remove his overshoes, and partly because they were deeply engrossed with each other. Though his rival's declaration, which he had every reason to suppose would be accepted, was the death blow to his hopes, yet he unselfishly stepped out into the snow, waited five minutes by his watch--a liberal allowance for an acceptance, he considered--and then rapped loud and theatrically before entering a second time. Could unselfishness go further? Kate and Sanderson had no other opportunity for confidential talk that evening. They were barely seated about the supper table, when there came a tremendous rapping at the door, and Marthy Perkins came in, half frozen. For once her voluble tongue was silenced. She retailed no gossip while submitting to the friendly ministrations of Mrs. Bartlett and Anna, who chafed her hands, gave her hot tea and thawed her back to life--and gossip. "Is the Squire back yet?" asked Marthy with returning warmth. "Land sakes, what can be keeping him? Heard him say last night that he intended going away this morning, and thought he might have come back." "With news?" naively asked Sanderson. "Why, yes. I did think it was likely that he might have gathered up something interesting, away a whole day." Every one laughed but Mrs. Bartlett. She alone knew the object of her husband's quest. "Your father's not likely to be back to-night--do you think so, Dave?" she asked her son, more by way of drawing him out than in the hope of getting any real information. "No, I do not think it is likely, mother," he answered. "Good land! and I nearly froze to death getting here!" Marthy said in an aside to Mrs. Bartlett. "I tell you, Looizy, there is nothing like suspense for wearing you out. I couldn't get a lick of sewing done to-day, waiting for Amasy to get in with the news." "Hallo! hallo! Let us in quick--here we are, me and the Squire--most froze! Hallo, hallo"--The rest of Hi's remarks were a series of whoops.