As Dan stood there in the darkness with snow to his knees, clutching between his fingers the extinguished match, the helplessness of his position dawned upon him. What had happened to the parson he could easily guess, for the place was full of old stumps, half protruding from beneath the snow. No doubt he had struck one of these in the fall. But of the result of the blow he could not tell, for placing his ear close down to the face he tried to detect some sign of life, but all in vain. Suppose the parson had been killed! He thought of Nellie, waiting anxiously at the Rectory. How could he tell her what had happened? Suddenly a new sense of responsibility came to him. Something must be done as quickly as possible, and he was the only one to do it. He thought of Stephen's cabin, which they had passed a short time before. He could obtain help there, and he must go at once. Taking off his own outer coat he laid it carefully over the prostrate man, and then struggled back to the road. Having reached this he imagined it would not take him long to cover the distance. But he soon found how difficult was the undertaking, and what a task it was to keep the road on such a night. The blackness was intense, and the snow, which all the time had been steadily falling, added to the difficulty. Every few steps he would plunge off into the deep snow, and flounder around again until he had regained the solid footing. The distance, which was not more than a mile, seemed never-ending. Still he plodded on, the thought of that silent form lying in the snow inspiring him with extra energy. At length, much exhausted, a welcome glimmer of light winged its way through the darkness. Dan's heart leaped within him. The place was near, and Stephen had not yet gone to bed. Panting heavily, and struggling unsteadily, he crept slowly forward, reached the door and pounded fiercely upon it with both doubled-up fists.

Slowly the door was opened, and great was Stephen's surprise to see the little snow-covered figure standing before him.

"Help! Come quick!" gasped Dan.

"What's wrong?" Stephen demanded, dragging the boy into the cabin. "Where's the parson?"

"Over there--in the snow--in the woods!"

"Sit down," said Stephen, noticing how weary and excited was the little lad. "Tell me now all about it."

Quickly and briefly Dan related about the drive through the storm, the accident on the "cut off," and Parson John's fall.

"Oh, God!" Stephen groaned when he had heard the story. "What will Nellie think? What will she say? It will break her heart! I must be off at once!"

Reaching for the lantern his hand trembled as he lighted it.

"Wait here," he commanded, "till I hitch Dexter to the pung; or no, you'd better come with me and give a hand. There is no time to lose."

Dan obeyed without a word and held the lantern while Stephen harnessed the horse.

"Where's Midnight?" Stephen asked, as he deftly drew the reins through the terrets.

"She ran away. I heard the sleigh crashing after her as she ran."

"She'll kill herself! But no, she's too wise for that. She'll go home and whinny at the door, and then what will Nellie think! We must hurry along as fast as possible. She will he frantic with fear."

"Guess we'd better bring the parson back to your place," Dan remarked as Dexter swung down the road.

"Bring him to my place!" exclaimed Stephen in surprise. "What can we do for him there?"

"Won't he need the doctor?"

"Yes, he may. But we can't go all the way to Bradin now."

"Guess you won't have to do that."

"Why, what do you mean?"

"He's at the Stickles'."

"At the Stickles'?"

"Yep. The little girl got hurt, so we went after the doctor."

"Oh, I see--I see now," Stephen mused. "That's a different matter. It's only three miles to the Stickles'. But the road will be bad to-night, for the wind's across country, and the drifts there pile fast and deep. But I shall go if necessary, even if I have to crawl on all fours. I won't have to do that, though, for Dexter will take me through if any horse can."

It did not take them long to cover the one mile of road between the cabin and the place where the accident had occurred. By the light of the lantern it was not difficult to find the spot. An uncanny feeling crept over them as they drew near, and saw the parson lying there in the snow just as Dan had left him. With the lantern in his hand Stephen leaped from the pung and looked intently into the face of the prostrate man. It did not take him long to ascertain that life still remained in his body, and a prayer of thankfulness went up from his heart as he thought of the dear old man and the anxious Nellie.

Quickly and as carefully as possible they lifted him into the pung, covered him with a warm robe, and then sped back to the cabin. As soon as they had laid him upon the bed, Stephen reached for a heavy coat hanging on the wall.

"I'm off now," he said. "You keep watch. I'll be back as soon as I can."

The injured man lay perfectly motionless, to all outward appearance dead. Dan stood looking at him for some time after Stephen had left, puzzled and bewildered. What could he do? What would Nellie think of him now? He sank upon the stool by the bedside And buried his face in his hands--a forlorn little creature, trying to think. Presently he glanced towards the bed, and gazed long and intently upon the parson's face. Many were the thoughts which crowded into his mind as he sat there. A deep affection for the old man had sprung up in his heart. To him he was like some superior being with his great strength and wonderful knowledge. Then to think he should care for him, Dan Flitter, so small, who could neither read nor write, who was nothing but a sponger. The thought of Farrington's insult came to him, and what he had said about the parson. It had rankled continually in his breast, and now it arose in greater force than ever. Why were the people saying such things about this good man? He had listened to men talking in the store and along the road. They had said and hinted many things, and he had been silent. But, though silent, his mind and heart had been at work. Often while lying in his little bed at night he had brooded over the matter. He longed to do something to clear the parson, and show the people that they were wrong. But what could he do? They would not listen to him. They hinted that the parson had stolen the gold, and what could he say? It needed more than words. These were the thoughts which had been beating through his brain for days, giving him at times that listless manner, far-away look, and lack of interest in his studies, which worried Nellie so much. So sitting on guard by the injured man's side this night with large, dreamy eyes, thoughtful face--more thoughtful than ordinary for a child of his age--he recalled the various scenes since the night of the fire. Suddenly his face flushed, the dreamy expression faded from his eyes, as the dim light of dawn is dispersed by the fulness of day. They shone with a new radiance as he turned them upon the parson's face. He rose to his feet and walked quickly up and down the room. He was once again a creature of the wild. The glory of a lofty purpose fired his blood. He had experienced it before when, out in the woods, he had followed the tracks of the nimble deer, or listened to the whirr of the startled pigeon. But now it was a nobler chase, a loftier purpose, in which the honour of a faithful friend was at stake.

A sound from the bed startled him. Glancing quickly in that direction he noticed the lips of the wounded man moving. No sign of consciousness, however, did he give. He was in another world, the strange, mysterious world, where the mind roams at will and language flows from the fountain-head of the inner being.

"'The blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was shed for thee--drink this--.'" He was in church at the Communion service, administering the cup.

"Four thousand dollars." He was at the auction now, eager and intent.

"Poor lassie, poor little lamb." This time it was the injured Stickles child. And thus he rambled on from one thing to another, while Dan stood like a statue in the room staring upon him. Suddenly he opened his eyes, looked around in a dazed manner, and then fixed them upon the boy's face. He moved a little, and at once a cry of pain escaped his lips.

"Dan! Dan!" he exclaimed. "What is the matter? Where am I, and what is the meaning of this pain in my shoulder?"

The look in his face was most pathetic, and Dan longed to do something to relieve his suffering.

"Does yer shoulder hurt much?" the lad asked.

"Yes, yes, the pain is intense. Tell me how it happened."

"We were chucked from the sleigh, an' I guess you struck a stump," was the reply.

"Is this Stephen's cabin?"

"Yep. He's gone fer the doctor, so I'm keepin' watch."

The parson remained very quiet, and did not speak for some time. He still felt confused, and his shoulder was giving him great pain. He realized, however, how much he owed to Dan. What if he had been alone when the accident occurred?

"Did you come back for Stephen?" he at length questioned.

"Yep."

"And you were not hurt? Are you sure?"

"Sure's I'm livin'."

"And you were not afraid to come alone to the cabin for help?"

"No, I didn't mind."

"You're a brave boy, Dan. You've done much for me to-night. Saved my life, in fact."

"Oh, I didn't do much. Not worth mentionin'," and the lad took his seat by the bedside.

How the time did creep by. Often Dan went to the door and looked out. He strained his ears in order to hear the sound of bells, but the wind moaning and tearing through the tree-tops alone fell upon his ears. At last, when his patience was almost exhausted, the door was flung open, and Doctor Leeds entered, covered with snow, and a most anxious look upon his face. It did not take long for the practised eye and hand to ascertain the trouble. The shoulder had been dislocated, and would have to be replaced.

Then the parson showed of what stuff he was made. Hardly a sound escaped his lips as the doctor, assisted by Stephen, performed the painful operation.

"There!" exclaimed the physician, as he bound up the wounded member, "we'll have you round again in a short time. Now, some would have squaked and yelled like a baby, but you're a man through and through." "Thank you, Doctor. You are very good. But how about the little lass? You didn't leave her for me? Tell me the truth," and the parson's eyes sought the doctor's face.

"Oh, don't you worry about her," was the good-natured reply. "Sweepstakes took me over the road like the wind, and I had the poor little leg all fixed up before Stephen arrived. She'll do very well now without my care. But come, we must get you home at once."

"Do you think I am able to go?"

"Able! certainly you're able. Home's the only place for you, though the journey may cause you some pain."

"And you will come too, Doctor? You muat be very tired, and need a good rest."

"Yes, I'm going with you. I'm not going to leave you yet. You're worth fifty ordinary men, and we must not run any risk. Besides that, sir, I do want a glimpse of your dear Nellie, and a little chat with her. I haven't rested my eyes upon her for months, and do you think I'm going to miss such an opportunity? No, sir, not a bit of it."

Mr. Westmore was forced to smile in spite of his weakness as he looked into the doctor's strong, rugged face.

"God bless you," he replied. "This isn't the first time you have been a firm friend to me. I can never forget how you stood day and night by the side of my dear wife, doing all in your power to keep her with us a little longer."

"Tut, tut, man," and the doctor turned away to hide a mistiness in his eyes. "She was worthy of it, and her like can't be found every day. But come, Steve has been waiting at the door for some time, and we must be away."

Chapter XV

. Deepening Shadows

As Nellie stood at the study window the Sunday afternoon her father left for Craig's Corner a sense of depression and loneliness stole over her. How much longer could her father continue those hard drives, she wondered. He was getting old. His hair was so white and his steps feeble. What was to become of him when he could perform his beloved work no longer? She knew very well how they were pressed for money, and how much had gone to help Philip in his fight in British Columbia. How many things had they gone without! Even mere common necessities had been given up. Naturally her mind turned to the auction, and the money her father had paid down for the farm. Four thousand dollars! Where had it come from, and why would her father never tell her, or speak about it in her presence? How often had she lain awake at night thinking about it all! Then to hear people more than hinting about Billy Fletcher's gold, and what had become of it, was at times more than she could bear. Never for a moment did she doubt her father, but often she longed to ask him for an explanation of the mystery. Was the money his own, or was he handling it for someone else? If so, why should he not tell her--his only daughter--who was so dear to him?

She was aroused by the arrival of several children from the houses nearest the Rectory. Every Sunday afternoon Nellie found her real enjoyment with her little class. She had known them all since their birth, and they loved her. How longingly they looked forward to that brief Sunday gathering. There were no harsh, strict rules here, no perfunctory opening and closing, and no lifeless lessons droned forth in a half-rebellious spirit. It was all joy and love. How their voices did ring as Nellie played on the little harmonium some sweet hymn attuned to childish hearts and minds. Then, after the lessons were over, there came the treat of the day--a story read from one of those marvellous books kept on a shelf in a corner all by themselves. When at last the story had been finished and the class dispersed, Nellie locked the doors, and made her way to Vivien Nelson's. What a hearty welcome she received from them all! To Mr. and Mrs. Nelson, hard-working, God-fearing people, she was as their own daughter. She and Vivien, their only child, had been playmates together at school, and their friendship had never languished. There Nellie felt at home. She knew that no matter what disagreeable things were being said about her father throughout the parish, no word of reproach or blame was ever mentioned in the Nelson home. Others might think what they liked about Parson John, but the Nelsons had known him too long in times of sorrow and joy to believe any evil of their old Rector.

Here Nellie stayed until the following afternoon, and then made her way home to have the house comfortable before her father came back. As the evening drew near she anxiously watched for his return. She saw the dull grey sky and knew that a storm threatened. As the darkness deepened and the wind raved about the house, and the snow beat against the north windows, her anxiety increased. The supper table stood ready in its snowy whiteness; the kettle sang on the stove and the fire in the sitting-room grate threw out its cheerful glow. It was a scene of peace and genial comfort contrasted with the raging of the elements outside. But Nellie thought nothing of this, for her heart was too much disturbed. Had anything happened to her father and Dan? It was some relief to know that the lad was along, for two were better than one should an accident occur. Her eyes roamed often to the little clock ticking away on the mantel-piece. Six-seven-eight-nine. The hours dragged slowly by. She tried to read, but the words were meaningless. She picked up her needlework, but soon laid it down again, with no heart to continue. Once more she glanced at the clock. Ten minutes after nine. She thought it longer than that since it had struck the hour. She arose to attend the kitchen fire, when a loud knock upon the front door startled her. She turned back, and stood for an instant in the centre of the room. Her heart beat fast, and her face paled. Tramps were frequently seen in Glendow, working their way from one place to another. At times they were impudent and tried to force an entrance into houses. It was a likely night for them to seek shelter, and suppose one were standing out there now! What could she, a lone woman, do? Another rap, harder than the first, fell upon her ears. Something must be done, and at once. Crossing the room and pausing near the door she demanded who was there.

"Sam Dobbins," came the reply, and Nellie breathed more freely as she unlocked the door, opened it and admitted the visitor.

"'Tis a blasted night," the man remarked as he tried to shake himself free from his mantle of snow and stamped upon the floor with his great heavy boots. "If I'd known 'twas so bad I'd never stirred one step."

"Is anything wrong?" questioned Nellie, fearful lest Sam was the bearer of ill news. "Have you seen my father?"

"Your father! Isn't he home?" and the man looked his surprise.

"No, he hasn't come yet, and I'm so uneasy."

"Well, I declare, and to think that I have come all the way to see him, and he's not here. When do you expect him?"

"I expected him home before dark, but now I don't know what to think. Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Dobbins? Won't you take a seat?"

"No, there's nothin' you kin do, miss. I've got to see the parson, and only him. I hate the job, but I've got to do it. I'm the only constable in the place, and I've got to do my duty."

At these words a startled look came into Nellie's face. She took a step forward and looked keenly into the man's eyes.

"What do you mean?" she demanded. "I know you're a constable, but what do you want of my father? Oh, please tell me, quick!"

"Now don't get excited, Miss," Mr. Dobbins kindly replied, looking with admiration upon the excited young figure before him. "Remember, I've nothin' against your father. Haven't I shod every horse he had since he came to this place, long before you were born. He's been a good customer of mine, and I ain't got nothin' agin him. I'm only doin' my duty as a constable."

"But I don't understand, Mr. Dobbins. You come here to arrest my father and----"

"Only to serve the summons, Miss," interrupted the blacksmith. "I ain't goin' to arrest him. He'll be asked to appear at the trial, that's all."

"Trial! what trial?"

"Oh, it's in connection with a cow."

"A cow!"

"Yes. It seems that Si Farrington's hired man, Pete Davis, was takin' away the Stickles' only cow, when your father appeared on the scene, cut the rope, set the cow free, and sent Joe off in a hurry. Farrington's in a rage, and says he'll make the parson smart fer what he did. He's goin' to take legal action, and so I've been sent to serve the summons. That's all I know about it, Miss. I'm real sorry, but what else could I do?"

Nellie made no reply when the man ceased. Words would not come. Her bosom heaved, and she placed her hand to her forehead in an abstracted manner. Her eyes were fixed full upon the constable's face, though she did not see him. Her thoughts were away from that room, out through the storm and darkness to an old grey-headed man battling somewhere with the tempest, for the sake of others. What had happened? What would he think when he reached home to find out what Farrington was doing?

The constable shifted uneasily from one foot to the other in an embarrassed manner before those pathetic eyes. He clutched his cap more firmly in his hands, and shuffled towards the door.

"Guess I'll go now, Miss," he stammered. "I'll step up the road to make a call and come back again. Maybe your father will be home then."

Nellie hardly heard the door open and close as the constable passed out into the night. She stood for awhile as if dazed, then sinking into a nearby chair she buried her face in her hands. The wind howled and roared outside, and the snow dashed and swirled against the window. A big grey cat rose from its position before the fire, came and rubbed its sleek fur against her dress, and gently purred for some attention. But Nellie did not heed it. How dark all seemed to her! One thing after another! Why were these clouds gathering so thick over her dear father's head? It did not seem possible that he could be kept in ignorance much longer. It was sure to be revealed through this last trouble.

A sound fell upon her ears which made her look quickly up. Was it the wind? She listened with fast-beating heart. Again it came--a pathetic whinny out in the yard. She sprang to her feet, and rushed to the back door. She knew that call, for how often had she heard it! Midnight was there, standing almost at the threshold. Her dim form could be seen as Nellie peered out. She hurried forth, heedless of the pelting storm, expecting to hear her father's voice. But no cheery greeting met her, neither could she find the sleigh. Feeling around with her hands she felt the trailing shafts, and the awful truth flashed upon her. An accident had happened! And what of her father? Forgetting the horse she turned back into the house, seized a cloak, threw it over her shoulders, and hurried out into the storm. How the wind did roar about her as she waded and half stumbled through the drifts, which were now filling the road. Anxiety lent speed to her feet. She dashed on her way, and at length almost breathless reached the Larkins' house. Upon the door she beat with her hands, and after what seemed a long time Mr. Larkins made his appearance.

"Nellie! Nellie!" he exclaimed in affright, as she staggered into the room. "What in the world is the matter? Tell me, quick!"

"F-father's--had--an--a-a-ccident. Midnight came home without the sleigh--dragging the shafts--oh, what can we do?"

"Do?" was the reply. "We shall do what we can! I shall harness the horses at once, get several of the neighbors, and go in search of him. Don't worry too much, Nellie. To be pitched out of the sleigh in the soft snow is not so bad. No doubt we shall meet him and Dan plodding wearily along."

This the worthy man said to calm Nellie's fears, though in his own heart there was real anxiety, and he was not long in placing the horses fast to the big sled. But before he left he stopped to turn Midnight into the barn floor, threw on her blanket, and left her quietly munching a liberal supply of hay.

Mrs. Larkins was not long in making her appearance, and did what she could to bring comfort to Nellie's anxious heart. She also went with her back to the Rectory to await her husband's return. How the time did drag by! At every wild gust of wind Nellie started and trembled. At length, however, the faint sound of bells was heard, and scarcely had the panting, snow-flecked horses stopped at the door ere Nellie, bare-headed, and with a shawl over her shoulders, appeared.

"Father, father!" she cried, as she rushed forward, and peered into the familiar face. "Are you safe?"

"Yes, dearie. I am home again," came the feeble response.

"Oh, thank God!" she replied, throwing her arms around his neck, and kissing him again and again. "What a night this has been--a horrible nightmare!"

"Come, lassie," demanded the doctor. "Away with you into the house. What are you doing out here in such a storm? We'll look after your dad."

Chapter XVI