THE snow had fallen several days before. This afternoon the ground was hard and white, with a thin crust of ice.

Spinning in the air were small silver crystals that danced in the winter wind as if with no thought of ever settling down upon the earth.

Driving along the road, Tory Drew felt their light, cold touch on her forehead and cheeks. The warm blood in her rushed up to meet them, her face and eyes glowed.

She was alone and on her way to call upon Memory Frean in her House in the Woods.

An hour before she had been despondent. Now she felt a pleasant rush of excitement and a sense of adventure.

Originally she had not intended to make the little journey alone. At present she was rejoicing in her loneliness.

She had stopped at the shabby old house across from her own to ask Dorothy McClain to accompany her, but finding Dorothy away from home had made no further effort for companionship. There were other Girl Scouts who would gladly have joined her. Memory Frean was a member of their Council, and during the past summer in Beechwood Forest their own Patrol of the Eagle’s Wing Troop had learned to know her intimately.

Tory’s horse moved slowly and serenely with little urging from her. The tang and beauty of the afternoon occasionally stirred him to small spurts of speed.

Ordinarily Mr. Richard Fenton’s riding horse, only recently Tobias had been broken for driving.

This afternoon he was drawing a newly purchased two-seated sleigh with Tory Drew as driver.

Now and then she made an impatient movement of her reins and smiled, appreciating the fact that Tobias would not move any faster than his own inclination ordered. Besides, she was in no particular hurry. So long as the sun shone with its early afternoon radiance upon the white world surrounding her, she enjoyed being a part of the great outdoors.

The wind blew harder and the snow danced faster and still Tory laughed. The House in the Woods would appear like a miniature fairy palace when she finally reached it.

It was Friday, and she had received permission from her aunt, Miss Victoria Fenton, to remain for the night. Therefore, when darkness fell she and Miss Frean could sit by the open fire and talk as only they could talk.

If of late life had not been so satisfactory as usual, Memory Frean would help set things right.

Only a little more than a year before on an autumn afternoon they had met along this self-same road.

The thought of Westhaven without Memory Frean, Victoria Drew did not like to contemplate.

Since her arrival in the little New England town of Westhaven two friends she had come to consider indispensable to her happiness, Memory Frean and Katherine Moore.

No longer was Kara to be found in the Gray House on the Hill, her own title for the village orphan asylum.

Counting the days, Tory felt it incredible that she and Kara had been separated only two months. But then she was one of the persons who measured time not by the calendar but by her own needs. After the excitement of helping Kara make ready to leave had followed a natural reaction. Then word had come that the other girl was settled in a small hospital in New York City. How long she must wait before the doctors could say whether she would be able to walk again no one would predict.

Kara was struggling to be patient. Tory appreciated that she should be no less patient, yet uncertainty was peculiarly hard for her restless nature.

This morning Kara’s final letter had announced that she might hope to hear by Christmas. Until then they must both be brave.

With all Tory Drew’s vivid charm and sweetness, she did not possess the force of character of the other girl. However, their lives had been very different. After her mother’s death, Victoria Drew, who preferred to be known as Tory, had lived with her artist father, wandering about Europe. Eighteen months before, he had married a second time. He had then sent her to be brought up as an American girl in the little town of Westhaven, with her mother’s unmarried brother and sister, Mr. Richard Fenton and Miss Victoria Fenton. No such background favored Kara. Found by a passer-by in a deserted cabin when little more than a baby, until her accident in Beechwood Forest the summer before, Kara had lived in the village orphan asylum. Her name, Katherine Moore, pinned to her dress, was all that was so far known of her history or parentage. She had gone with her Patrol of Girl Scouts to the woods to camp for the summer. Here, an accident which had not appeared serious at the time made it probable that she would never walk again.[A]

Her thoughts turning from one friend to the other, Tory became more dispirited.

She did not look overhead to see that the clouds were deepening and the sun on the snow shining less bright. No longer were the snowflakes dancing in the air, but settling thick and fast on the hard crust of the ice.

However, when she drew up before the front door of the House in the Woods she was finally aware of the fact.

It was good to observe the small spiral of smoke ascending through the brick chimney and to catch the reflection of the fire on the window glass. Preferring first to make her horse comfortable for the night, Tory led him to the stable at the back of the house, unhitched and fed him.

With her task accomplished, on her way to the house Tory found her hands and face aching from the cold. She received the impression that although fighting valiantly against the wind and snow, if the contest should be a long one she would be defeated.

Her knock at the front door became more imperative than polite, more a demand than an appeal.

No one opened the door.

The girl did not knock again. A sudden gust of wind blew her forward. She caught hold of the knob, felt it turn and pushed open the door.

The room inside was warm, glowing and empty.

Tory called, but there was no reply.

By the side of the fireplace was a pile of logs sufficient to last twenty-four hours. Removing her wraps and replenishing the fire, the newcomer sat down on the stool she regarded as her especial property.

There was not much light in the wide room save the flames of crimson and gold from the fire. The window blinds were open, but the sunlight of an hour before had vanished. The light through the glass was gray and opaque.

Tory frowned. Yet she was really extremely comfortable and reasonably serene again. Christmas was not far off. Her uncle had promised to take her for her first visit to New York. With her artist father she had been in London, Paris and Rome; and the time was approaching when she should behold the greatest city in her own country.

Tory Drew’s frown at present was not for herself or Katherine Moore. She was troubled by Memory Frean’s absence from her home.

No need to ponder where she had gone, or why.

Tory observed the absence of the rusty leather bag that ordinarily sat in the corner by the odd cabinet.

From the depth of this same bag she had received the gift of the Eagle’s Wing which had been her talisman in Westhaven. Later her Troop of Girl Scouts had chosen the Eagle’s Wing for its crest.

Never did Miss Frean fail to carry this bag when upon a pilgrimage to some one ill or in trouble in the neighborhood who asked her sympathy and help.

The laws and purposes of the outdoors, some of its simple gifts of healing, Miss Frean had studied and applied.

She would realize that the storm would be a heavy one and return home in a little while.

In the meantime, the girl, knowing she would be found a welcome guest, sat by the fire, sometimes dreaming, at others troubled by Miss Frean’s delay.

She had always been able to see pictures in the firelight.

At present she pretended to observe a procession of knights marching through the flames. The last knight perished and Tory aroused herself to action.

Outside it was now dark, so that Miss Frean would be at home at any moment, tired and hungry.

She would be glad to discover she was not to spend the long winter evening alone.

Lighting a lamp, Tory set it in the window as a beacon guide to the mistress of the house. Another she placed in the center of the table, which she laid for supper.

Having spent many hours in the House in the Woods with Memory Frean, Tory was familiar with all its domestic arrangements.

Yet to-night she had an odd sense of unreality, a fanciful impression that she was in a little house of mystery shut in by the white guards outside. Now and then they rattled and shook the doors and windows as if they wished to enter.

She had been glad that Miss Frean had left her front door unlocked. She rarely ever fastened it. Since her own arrival Tory had seen that it was securely bolted.

Seven o’clock and the water was boiling on the oil stove in the kitchen, the bread sliced for toast, and the bacon and eggs waiting to be cooked on the instant.

At half-past Tory ate her supper alone.

At eight o’clock she went to the front door and half opened it with the impulse to go forth and search for her friend.

Tory saw the absurdity of this idea, for she had no conception where to begin the search. The conviction was stealing over her that instead of waiting through the quiet hours for the return of Memory Frean she should have gone back to her home in Westhaven before dark. There was more than a possibility now that Miss Frean would remain for the night at the home of the ill person for whom she was caring. That she could be away on any other errand that would absorb so much time did not occur to her unexpected guest. Half an hour later Tory’s serenity completely vanished, when suddenly the idea of remaining alone in the little House in the Woods for the night swept over her with a sense of panic. Never had she been alone anywhere for a night in her entire lifetime. Here she was in the heart of the country with no neighbor within a mile. Often she had wondered and worried over Miss Frean’s living here alone, yet the terror of a winter’s night in the midst of a storm had never before touched her imagination.

And Tory’s imagination was keener than most persons’.

The big room became haunted with shadows. The gusts of wind outside that had given her a sense of satisfaction and the impression of being safely cloistered during the afternoon were now wailing spirits struggling to enter.

Tory was now walking up and down the floor straining her ears to catch the sound of approaching footsteps. If only Memory Frean would return, there would still be time for a few happy hours together.

Memory Frean must of course be spending the night with her patient, who had been too ill to permit her to return earlier in the evening. Tory realized that she should have gone back to her own home in Westhaven as soon as she discovered her hostess’s absence.

It was too late now to consider this. Besides, the storm made it out of the question.

Restlessly she continued walking up and down the serene and familiar room, but Tory’s own serenity had vanished. The room haunted by shadows, she must remain here alone until daylight.

Always she had suffered from an ardent imagination. At times it afforded her more entertainment than anything else in the world. To-night she would have been glad to be spared it.

Straining her ears, she kept hoping for the return of Miss Frean, notwithstanding the conditions outside.

At bedtime Tory arrived at a desperate decision.

No matter what the reality, she could face it. She would go back to Westhaven.

An unnerving self-pity overwhelmed her.

In the old brown-and-gold drawing-room of the Fenton homestead her uncle and aunt were perhaps nodding over their evening conversation. They would be missing her presence. Suppose they dreamed of her present plight? She put on her coat and wrapped her fur tightly about her.

A barn lantern hung inside the kitchen door.

Lighting it, Tory once more opened the front door of the little House in the Woods.

Her lamp went out, she was enveloped in a spiral column of swirling snow.

On the path and just below the catalpa tree Tory seemed to see a tall figure shining in white and silver.

She knew of course this was an illusion, nevertheless, she banged the door shut with all the force at her command.

Then, as sleep appeared out of the question, piling the fire with logs, once more she sat down, now to watch and wait for the coming of morning.