"Now for some hard work," said Mr. Pertell one day, about ten days after the big storm. "I think we can safely go out, and make some of the scenes in the play 'Snowbound,'" he went on. "There will not be much danger that we will be caught in another blizzard; will there?" he asked of Mr. Macksey.

"I should hope not!" was the answer. "I don't believe there is any snow left in the clouds. Still, don't take too many chances. Don't go more than ten miles away."

"Oh, I wasn't thinking of going half that distance!" said Mr. Pertell. "I just want to get a scene or two at some place where the snow is piled in fantastic forms. The rest of the story takes place around the Lodge here."

"Is it the one that is something like the story of Lorna Doone?" asked Alice, who had been reading that book.

"That's the one," said Mr. Pertell. "And I think I shall cast you as Lorna."

"Oh, how nice!" she laughed. "But who will be John Ridd? We need a great big man for him!"

"Well, I was thinking of using Mr. Macksey," went on the manager, with a look at the hunter.

"What? Me have my photograph took in moving pictures!" cried the keeper of the Lodge. "Why, I don't know how to act!"

"You know how a great deal better than some that are in the business," returned Mr. Pertell, coolly. "Present company always excepted," he added, as Mr. Bunn looked up with an injured air. "What I mean is that you are so natural," he continued. "In fact, you have had your pictures taken a number of times lately, when you and your men were clearing away the snow. So you see it will be no novelty for you."

"But I didn't know when you took my pictures!" objected the hunter.

"No, and that's just the point. Don't think of the camera at all. Be unconscious of it. I'll arrange to have it masked, or hidden, if you think you can do better that way. But I have some scenes calling for a big man battling in the snow to save a girl, and you and Miss Alice are the proper characters. So I hope you won't disappoint me."

"I'll do my best," promised Mr. Macksey. "But I'm not used to that sort of work."

However, when the preliminary scenes for the big drama were filmed he did some excellent acting, the more so as he was totally unconscious that he was acting.

Several days were spent in making films of the play, for Mr. Pertell wanted to take advantage of the snow.

"It won't last a great while longer," remarked the hunter. "It's getting warm, and there'll be a thaw, soon."

He proved to be a true weather prophet for in two weeks there was scarcely a vestige of the snow left. It grew warm, and rained, and there was so much water about, from the rain and melting snow, that it was nearly as difficult to get about as it had been in the big drifts.

But the thaw proved an advantage in one way, for it opened up the roads that had been well-nigh impassable, and mail and other supplies came through.

The storm, while it gave Mr. Pertell a chance to make some fine pictures, had one drawback. He was not able to send the reels of film in to New York for development and printing. He lost considerable time and some money on this account, but it could not be helped.

But with the passing of the snow the highways were clear, and traffic to and from the village was made easy.

One day Mr. Macksey came back from town with a good-sized bag, filled with mail for the picture players.

"Oh, here's a letter for you, Ruth, and one for me!" cried Alice, as she sorted them over. "One for daddy, too! Oh, it's a big one!"

The moving picture girls were busy over their epistles for some time, as there proved to be a number of missives for them, from relatives, and from friends they had made since posing for the camera. But when Alice read all hers and was passing some of them to her sister, she happened to glance at her father's face.

"Why Daddy!" she cried, "what is the matter?"

"Oh—nothing!" he murmured, hoarsely for he had caught a little cold, and his voice was almost as bad as it had been at first.

"But I'm sure it's something!" Alice insisted. "Is it bad news? Ruth, make him tell!"

The three were in Mr. DeVere's room, where they had gone to look over the mail.

"Oh, it isn't anything!" declared the actor, and he tried to slip into his coat pocket the letter in the large envelope that Alice had handed to him.

"I'm sure it is," she insisted. "Please tell me, Daddy."

The letter fell to the floor, and Alice could not help seeing that it was from a firm of New York lawyers.

"Oh, is it the trouble about the five hundred dollars?" the girl cried. "Is Dan Merley making more trouble?"

"Yes," answered Mr. DeVere. "He has brought suit against me, it seems. This is a notice from the lawyers that if I do not pay within a certain time I will be brought to court, and compelled to hand over the money."

"Can they make you do that, Daddy?" asked Ruth, anxiously.

"I'm afraid they can, my dear. As I told you, I have no proof, except my own word, that I paid Merley. He still holds my note, and that is legal evidence against me. Oh, if I had only been more business-like!"

"Never mind, Daddy!" Alice comforted him, putting her arms about his neck. "Perhaps there will be a way out."

"I hope so," her father murmured, in broken tones.

"How did the lawyers know you were here?" asked Ruth.

"They didn't. They sent it to the apartment, and the postman forwarded it to me."

"They can't sue you up here in this wilderness though; can they?" asked Alice.

"I don't know anything about the law part of it," replied Mr. DeVere. "I presume, though, that they can sue me anywhere, even though I have paid the money, as long as Merley holds that note. They can make a great deal of trouble if they wish."

"Poor Daddy!" Ruth sighed.

"Oh, but I mustn't make you worry this way," he said spiritedly. "I shall find some way to fight this case. I'll never give in to that scoundrel."

"I wonder where he is?" mused Alice. "We thought he was injured in the accident, and would not bother you."

"This notice does not mention him," replied Mr. DeVere, as he paused over the letter again. "It merely speaks of him as 'our client.' He may be in the hospital, for all I can tell."

They discussed the matter from all viewpoints, but there was nothing to be done.

"You will have to reply to the lawyers, though; won't you, daddy?" asked Ruth.

"Oh, yes, I must write to them. I shall state the case plainly, and, though, I have no proof, I shall ask them to drop the suit, as it is an unjust one."

"And if they don't?" suggested Alice.

"If they don't—well, I suppose I shall have to suffer," he replied, quietly. "I cannot raise the money now."

"Oh dear!" cried Alice, half petulantly. "I wish the blizzard was still here!"

"Why, Alice!" cried Ruth.

"Well, I do! Then there wouldn't have been any mail, and daddy wouldn't have received this horrid letter."

"Oh, well, it's best to know the plans of one's enemies," said Mr. DeVere. "Now I know what to expect. I think I shall write to Dan Merley myself, and appeal to his better nature. Surely, even though he was not entirely sober when I paid him the money, he must recall that I did. I confess I do not know whether he is merely under the impression that I did not pay him, or is deliberately telling a falsehood. It is hard to decide," he added, with a sigh.

Mr. DeVere sent a letter to Merley the next day, and a few days later an answer came back from New York, from the same firm of lawyers who had served the legal notice, to the effect that their client had left the matter entirely in their hands, and that the money must be paid. Mr. Merley, the lawyer said, preferred to have no direct communication with Mr. DeVere.

"That settles it! They mean to push the case to the limit!" exclaimed the actor.