NEW YEAR’S morning and the snow lying deep over all the paths, drifted even to the tops of the fences! Plenty of work for Stephen Watson; he frowned a little as he looked out of his attic window in the cold gray of the early morning and saw his nicely-made paths all carefully covered. But almost before the frown had cleared away he laughed, and broke at last into a cheery whistle. “No great loss without some gain.” He stopped to make this wise remark aloud, then went on with his whistling. What he longed for just now was a holiday—a chance to take a run across lots to Dick Wheeler’s home and see the new book which his uncle sent him for Christmas. A beautifully bound book with “oceans of pictures,” and telling all about a journey to Europe. “Not a stupid history,” Dick reported, “but a regular story, telling all about how some folks went and had jolly times, and saw no end of things, and described them.” Stephen’s brain was fairly whirling with a desire to examine this book. It may as well be owned that a book of almost any sort had wonderful attractions for this boy; and books and papers, and indeed reading matter of any kind, were painfully scarce in the country farmhouse where Stephen was chore boy. Mrs. Griggs, the mistress, did not more than half believe in them; she eyed even Stephen’s Geography with suspicion, and occasionally asked her husband “What sense there was in that boy’s learning where all the rivers and mountains in creation with outlandish names were to be found. What good would it do him? He would never find them outside of a book.”

Well, Stephen had smiled and whistled, because he saw that this heavy fall of snow was likely to further his plans for a holiday. If it had only drifted enough to make the roads to the ledge farm impassable then Mr. and Mrs. Griggs would stay at home and take care of the house, and when his chores were done, he might possibly be allowed to go over to Dick’s.

Everything seemed to be shaping according to his plans. Mr. Griggs remarked at the breakfast table that there “wouldn’t be no sense in trying to get to Mary Ann’s that day; the ledge road always drifted if it could get a chance, and the wind was still blowing in that direction.” Mrs. Griggs had sighed, it is true, and said that “Mary Ann would be dreadfully disappointed,” but she, too, had said that she supposed there was no use in trying to go.

Stephen went about his chores with a will, a trifle sorry for Mrs. Griggs, and a little curious over the idea that anybody in the world could be much disappointed over not receiving a visit from her and Mr. Griggs. “But then I suppose it is because they are her father and mother, and that makes a difference,” said this orphan boy, with a sigh. But he could not help being glad that they were not to go. What if he got the chores all done so early that there were several hours before dinner, and Mr. Griggs would let him go in the forenoon? Wouldn’t that be a lark worthy of the day! Dick Wheeler’s mother was always good-natured, and twice she had asked him to stay to supper with Dick; there was everything to be hoped for in that direction. He was coming from the old well with two brimming pails of water, when Mr. Griggs, out by the ash barrel, with his hands in his pockets to keep them warm, dashed the boy’s hopes to the ground. “Got about through, Stephen? Then I guess you may hitch up, after all. The wind has gone down, and Mis’ Griggs is disappointed, and she thinks we better try it. You may get things ready as fast as you can; we ought to be off if we are going; then you’ll have a long warm day in the kitchen. Don’t on no account leave the place; that wouldn’t do, of course.”

Not a word said Stephen, though he would like to have thrown the pails of water over Mr. Griggs, and kicked the empty pails into a snowdrift. He had never been so disappointed in his life! “A long warm day in the kitchen!” If there was any day which he utterly hated it was such an one; not even a new almanac to read—Farmer Griggs had been waiting for one to be sent to him from somewhere, and it had not come. Of course there was nothing to do but obey; but Stephen felt that he hated New Year’s dinners, and wished that “Mary Ann” lived fifty miles away, and hoped that Farmer Griggs would encounter a drift so deep that Mother Griggs would be rolled over in the snow! Oh! he was fierce enough to wish almost anything.

It was because of all this that a very glum-faced boy looked out of the small-paned kitchen window about two hours afterwards, and watched a single horse and cutter skim gaily along. Only one person in the sleigh, and he muffled in furs, and looking as though life was one long holiday. Stephen believed that everybody but himself was having a holiday. Suddenly the sleigh drew up in front of their gate. “Halloo!” said the man in furs, and Stephen ran out and down the snowy path. “Good-morning! Happy New Year,” said a pleasant voice. “Can you tell me whether this is the right road to Mr. Bennett’s farm?”

“Yes, sir, it is.”

“How far from here to Mr. Bennett’s?”

“Five miles, sir; but there are none of them at home.”

“They are not? How do you know that?”

“I know the boy who drives their horses, and he went by awhile ago; he was on his way back from Dr. Freeman’s, where he had been to take Miss Carrie—Mr. Bennett’s daughter—and the boy said his folks were all away for the day, and he was going to his grandmother’s to dinner.”

Stephen could not help adding that last, because it had been a very bitter drop in his cup of trouble. Mr. Bennett’s house could stay alone, it seemed, while the boy went to his grandmother’s to dinner, whereas this old farmhouse had to be watched as though there was danger of its running away.

“That is the state of things, is it?” said the stranger. “Thank you; I do not care to take a five-mile drive through these drifts to find a shut-up house. Can you tell me where Dr. Freeman lives?”

“He lives about a mile from here; but Miss Carrie Bennett isn’t there now, sir; she has gone with Miss Freeman to bring a Miss Banks, who lives two miles west, to eat dinner with them at the doctor’s.” Stephen told this story with an amused twinkle in his eye; it struck him as a queer thing that he should be so well posted concerning matters which evidently interested this handsome stranger. The stranger turned on him a keen, questioning glance. “You seem to understand your neighbors’ affairs very well indeed, my boy. How does it happen?”

Stephen laughed. “Why, Pete just happened to tell me about it, sir; he said he was in luck, and did not have to drive them there himself, because the doctor’s team drove up in just the nick of time and took them. Everybody is in luck except me.”

“Is that so?” asked the stranger, his face breaking into a genial smile. “I am certainly, since I have found a quick-witted boy who has saved me ten miles of useless driving. Can you do me another favor now, and let me come in and visit with you for awhile, until in your judgment the doctor’s team has had time to find Miss Banks and bring her back? I do not happen to be acquainted with any of the party save Miss Bennett, and would prefer waiting until she is there before I make my call.”

Mr. Griggs never refused travelers a chance to warm, and of course Stephen invited this one into the house and did the honors of the kitchen as well as he could. Somehow—he never quite understood how it was—he found himself telling the story of his bitter disappointment to this stranger—all about the wonderful book full of pictures and stories of travel. He was astonished afterwards to think how much he talked; but then, the stranger listened so kindly, and his eyes were so bright, and his smile so pleasant, and he asked so many questions, it seemed impossible not to confide in him.

“So you like books,” he said, as at last he arose; “and books of travel? Well, I do myself; and it happens curiously enough that I have a package of books in my sleigh at this moment, two of which I think you would enjoy. I was taking them to a nephew of mine, and missed seeing him; probably because it was intended that you should have them instead. I owe you a debt of gratitude; and I’ll exchange the information you gave me for whatever information you can find in the books, which are yours to keep, you understand. And now don’t you think Miss Banks may have arrived at the doctor’s by this time?”

Stephen helped him off in good style, but in such a flutter of excitement that he could hardly respond to the cheery “good-by,” for in his hands were two very large, very handsomely bound books, sparkling with pictures, and with the most inviting-looking reading. They must certainly be larger than Dick Wheeler’s one, for that had been minutely described to him. Besides, there were two of these; and besides, oh! besides, they were his very own, to keep!

As he turned the leaves, like one in fairyland, he said aloud, “What if I had got a chance to go to Dick Wheeler’s this morning and missed this? O, my! what if I had!”

Pansy.