IQO THE GARDEN OF A 



blew again, and more snow and nightfall came to- 

 gether. Two hearth-fires glowed, and father sat in 

 his study and looked contentedly across the hall, 

 silent save for a soliloquy on the contrariety of 

 new-fangled notions when, after running his paper 

 knife in a leisurely way as usual through the top 

 pages of a magazine, he began to read and found 

 the leaves were joined at the bottom. 



8 P. M. Evan has been to the barn with Tim, 

 and reports the sky clear and the stars bright, and 

 promises that in the morning I shall ride on the 

 snow plough that breaks the first road. 



A crude implement this snow plough, merely a tri- 

 angle of timber with a platform set midway, the 

 horse being fastened by a whiffle-tree to one of 

 the points. Ah, but I remember the excitement of 

 it all, the buffeting and breaking the way through 

 the trackless whiteness, and even the half-acid 

 taste of the crisp snow I ate to quench my thirst. 

 My face tingles already at the thought of it. 



Lark and Bluff, however, were not happy. First 

 they stretched before one fire, then the other, and 

 finally took up their places in the hall, Bluff facing 

 one way, and Lark the other, so that they could 

 see both halves of the family and nothing might 

 escape them; and I, too, sitting in the ingle nook, 



