The two old ladies were not of the quaint type, nor was their home picturesque. The place and the people were merely old-fashioned, and they were almost primitive in their ways. They were kind-hearted and hospitable, but they were of the rugged New England class that has lost the charm of its Colonial ancestry.

The dinner was wholesome and plentiful, but with no variety, and served in the plainest fashion. The chicken pie was delicious, but it had no accompaniments except home-made hot biscuit and coffee with thick, rich, country cream.

“I always say,” said Miss Winthrop, as she settled herself at the table, “that chicken pie is a whole meal in itself, without any bothersome side-dishes. I say it’s meat and drink both; but sister says she just can’t enjoy it ’thout she has a cup of coffee alongside of it. Well, I’ve no objections to the coffee, I’m sure, but I’m free to admit it does seem superfluous. Still, with company so, it ain’t so much out of place.”

“I’m sorry if we’ve made you any extra trouble,” said Patty, giving Miss Winthrop one of her best smiles; “but I’m free to confess that this is the most wonderful coffee that I’ve ever tasted, and I think it goes specially well with the pie. And as for these light biscuit, they’re just puffs of lusciousness! Aren’t they, Philip?”

“They are, indeed! All you say is true, but both coffee and biscuit pale beside the glory of this chicken pie! There never was such another!”

Mrs. Fay beamed with delight at these generous compliments, and said, complacently, “Yes, they ain’t many can make chicken pie like mine, if I do say it. My, ain’t it lucky you young people happened along, to-day of all days! And land knows, I don’t want you to go away right off. I’d like you to set a spell after dinner. But I feel it my bounden duty to tell you that ’Kiah says there’s a storm a-brewin’. But I don’t think you need start off before, say, three o’clock, anyway.”

“Three o’clock will do nicely,” returned Philip, gaily. “That will give us time to stop at Hatton’s Corners and get home before dark. Personally, I’m not in a bit of a hurry.”

“No?” And Mrs. Fay looked quizzically at her guests. “I just reckon, young man, that you ain’t one mite sorry that you lost your way and had this little outing with your young lady?”

“Indeed I’m not sorry, Mrs. Fay; and beside our little outing, we’re having a pleasant visit with you, and we’re enjoying every minute of it.”

“Indeed we are,” said Patty, glancing out of the window as she spoke. “But it’s beginning to snow already, and I don’t think we’d better wait until three o’clock.”

“Land’s sake!” and Miss Winthrop turned to look out of the window behind her. “So it is snowing! And when it begins that way, with fine flakes, slanting crossways, it means business! I dunno as you can hardly dare venture on a twelve-mile ride in the face of this. ’Pears to me it’s going to be a blizzard.”

“Nonsense, Mina; you do always look on the dark side,” expostulated her sister. “Now I think ’tain’t nothing but a flurry, and by then dinner is over, it’ll be bright sunshine again. Now, have your plates filled up, friends, and try and make out a meal.”

Mrs. Fay fairly beamed with hospitality as she urged more viands upon her guests. The table appointments were of the plainest, being thick white china and coarse table napery, with plated silverware. Patty had expected thin little old teaspoons of hall-marked silver, and old blue or perhaps copper-lustre teacups, but this household was not of that sort. Everything seemed to date from the early seventies, and Patty wondered why there were no old Winthrop heirlooms in the family.

She brought the conversation round to antiques, and Mrs. Fay remarked, decidedly: “I just can’t bear old-fashioned things. I come into quite a lot of old mahogany furniture and pewter and dishes and things when my grandfather died. But when I got married, I had an auction and sold everything. Then I took the money and bought a whole new outfit. I believe in going right along with the times. ’Course those old things were all right for grandfather, but when I married, I’m free to confess, I wanted things that were in style then. So I bought a real tasty outfit, and I’ve kept it careful, and it’s pretty near as good as new now.”

She looked around with pride at her dining-room furnishings, which seemed to Patty about the worst she had ever seen.

But she smiled at her hostess, and said, cordially: “I do think it’s nice to have just what you want; and I think we do get attached to our own things. Have you lived here long?”

“Land, yes! Nearly all my life. Mr. Fay, he’s been dead twenty-five years; so sister and me we live here together, as contented as you please. We have a telephone and a rural delivery, so you see it’s just the same as if we were right in town. Now, if you really won’t eat any more pie, let’s go into the sittin’-room a spell.”

From the sitting-room windows the view of the storm seemed more serious. The sky was black, the wind was blowing a gale, and the snow-flurry had grown thicker. In fact, it was a hard snowstorm, and Miss Winthrop’s fear of a blizzard did not seem entirely unfounded.

The young people took it lightly, however. “There’s no use worrying,” said Patty. “We ought to be thankful, Philip, that we’re under shelter, and with such kind friends. You’ll keep us till the storm is over, won’t you, Mrs. Fay?”

“Yes, and glad to. You just can’t think of starting now, so you might as well settle down and make the best of it. Want to telephone to your people again?”

“We will after a while; but there’s no use calling them up now. Let’s wait and see whether the storm grows worse or better. Why, if it’s a blizzard, we may have to stay here all night!”

“Don’t let that worry you none,” and Mrs. Fay swung back and forth complacently in her plush patent-rocker. “We got two spare bedrooms, and I’ll just be tickled to death to put you up over night. You’re just like a streak of sunshine in the house, Miss Fairfield, and I’m glad to have you as long as you’ll stay.”

“I wish you’d call me a streak of sunshine,” said Philip. “I’d love to be called that.”

“Well, you’re bright enough,” and Mrs. Fay looked at him, serenely. “But you’re a different kind of a streak.”

“A streak of lightning, I guess, if need be,” said Miss Winthrop, nodding her head at Philip, as if she appreciated his capabilities.

“I’m quick at some things,” said Philip, modestly. “But, jiminy crickets! I don’t believe we’re going to be very quick getting away from here! Just look at the storm, now!”

The fury of the elements had increased. The wind was a raging northern blast, and the snow was already piled in drifts. It was, in fact, a blizzard in a small way, and was rapidly growing.

“But never mind the weather, so long as we’re together,” sang Patty with a little trill, as she danced about the room. Then she seated herself at the old, square piano, and began to sing snatches of gay songs.

“My land! How pretty you do sing,” said Miss Winthrop, who was leaning on the end of the piano, listening delightedly. “Oh, sing more, won’t you? I don’t know when I’ve had such a treat.”

So Patty sang several of her prettiest songs, and the two old ladies were enchanted. Moreover, Eliza, the maid-of-all-work, and ’Kiah, the hired man, appeared in the doorway of the sitting-room and listened too.

“Come on, Philip; let’s give them a duet,” and Patty broke into some rollicking college songs, in which Philip joined.

Glad to be able to please their kind entertainers, they kept on singing for an hour or more.

“Well, that was great!” exclaimed Mrs. Fay, as Patty rose at last from the piano stool. “I used to sing some, and he used to sing bass. My, but we had nice times singing together there at that same piano. You two just made me think of it all over again. I think it’s awful nice for two to sing together.”

“Yes, we’re awfully fond of singing together,” said Philip, with a glance at Patty, half mischievous, half tender, whereat Patty blushed.

“You needn’t tell me,” said Mrs. Fay, nodding her head. “I see just how it is with you two. You can’t hide it, you know, so you needn’t to try.”

“Oh, I don’t want to hide anything, I’m sure,” said Philip. But Patty said, “Don’t be foolish, Philip; there’s nothing to hide! You’re mistaken, Mrs. Fay, if you think we’re anything more than friends.”

“Oh, land, child, I know what that means! Maybe you ain’t ready to say yes yet, but you will soon. Well, it ain’t none of my business, but I’m free to confess you are as proper-lookin’ a young couple as I’d want to meet; and mighty well suited to each other.”

“That’s what I think,” began Philip, but Patty turned the subject and went back to the weather, which was always a safe ground for conversation, if not safe to go out into.

“Well,” she said, going to the window for the fourteenth time; “it’s perfectly hopeless to think of starting. And it’s after four now, and it’s blowing great guns and snowing like all possessed! Mrs. Fay, we’ll simply have to accept your hospitality for the night. Now I think I’ll telephone AdÈle that we’re stormbound.”

But though Patty called and called, she could get no answer from the telephone Central.

“Guess the wires must be down,” said Miss Winthrop. “They broke down last winter with a snow that came sudden, just like this, and ’twas a week before we got it fixed.”

“Let me try,” and Philip took the receiver from Patty’s hand. But it made no difference who tried, they could get no answer of any kind.

“Oh, well,” said Philip, as he hung up the receiver again, “it doesn’t matter much. They know we’re safe, and they know where we are, and they know we couldn’t start out in a storm like this.”

“Maybe they’ll come for us with a motor,” suggested Patty.

“They might if we were nearer. But a motor would get stalled before it could get over here and back again in these drifts. It’s an awful storm, Patty, and the sooner you make up your mind that we can’t go home to-night, the better for all concerned.”

“My mind’s made up, then,” and Patty danced about the room. “I don’t mind a bit! I think it’s a lark. Do you have feather beds, Mrs. Fay?—I mean the kind you climb up to with step-ladders.”

“Land no, child! We ain’t old-fashioned folks, you know. We have springs and mattresses just like you do at home. Well, I’m sorry if your folks are worried, but I’m glad to have you young people stay the night. Maybe this evening, you’ll sing for us some more.”

“We will,” said Philip. “We’ll sing everything we know, and then make up some.”

Once having made up her mind to the inevitable, Patty ceased bothering about it, and proceeded to enjoy herself and to entertain everybody else. She chatted pleasantly with the old lady, she coquetted with Philip, and finally wandered out into the kitchen to make friends with Eliza.

“Let me help you get supper,” she said, for, to tell the truth, the novelty of the situation had passed, and Patty began to feel a little bored.

“Supper ain’t nothin’ to get, miss,” returned Eliza, a rawboned, countrified girl who was shy in the presence of this city lady.

“Well, let me help you, anyway. Mayn’t I set the table?”

“I’m afraid you wouldn’t know where the things was. Here, take this dish and go down cellar for the butter, if so be’s you have to do somethin’. It’s in a kag, underneath the swing-shelf.”

“Swing-shelf?” said Patty, interested—“what is a swing-shelf?”

“Why, a shelf hanging from the ceiling, to keep things on.”

“But why does it hang from the ceiling? I never heard of such a thing.”

“Why, so the rats or mice can’t get at the things.”

“Rats or mice!” and Patty gave a wild scream. “Here, take your plate, Eliza. I wouldn’t go down there for a million billion dollars!”

Patty ran back to the sitting-room. “Oh, Philip,” she cried, “they have rats and mice! Can’t we go home? I don’t mind the storm!”

“There, there, Patty,” said Philip, meeting her half-way across the room, and taking her hand in his. “Don’t be silly!”

“I’m not silly! But I can’t stay where they keep rats and mice! Why, Philip, they expect them. They build high shelves on purpose for them.”

“You must excuse this little girl, Mrs. Fay,” said Philip. “She’s really sensible in most ways, but she’s an absolute idiot about mice, and she can’t help it. Why, the other night——”

Patty drew her hand away from Philip’s clasp, and put it over his mouth. “Stop!” she said, blushing furiously. “Don’t you say another word! I’m not afraid of mice, Mrs. Fay.”

“There, there, child; I know you are, and I don’t blame you a mite. I am, too, or leastways, I used to be. I’ve kinder got over it of late years. But I know just how you feel. Now, let me tell you; honest, never a mouse dares show the tip of his nose outside the cellar! If you don’t go down there, you’re as safe as you would be up in a balloon. And I don’t count none the less on you for acting skittish about ’em.”

“I don’t mind it, either,” said Philip, who was still holding Patty’s hand by way of reassurance. “I shouldn’t mind if you acted skittisher yet.”

But Patty drew her hand away, declaring that Mrs. Fay had quieted her fears entirely, and that if Eliza would promise to keep the cellar door shut, she wouldn’t give another thought to the dreaded animals.

After supper, the four played a game of old-fashioned whist, which delighted the two old ladies, though it seemed strange to Patty and Philip, who were both good bridge players. Then there was more music, and at ten o’clock Miss Winthrop informed them that it was bedtime.

With considerable pride she took Patty up to the best spare room.

“Now, I hope you’ll be comfortable,” she said, “and I’m sure you will be. Here’s my best night-gown for you, and a dressing-gown and slippers. I don’t need ’em,—I can get along. And here’s a brush and comb. And now, that’s everything you want, isn’t it?”

Patty was touched at the kindliness of the old lady, and though inwardly amused at the meagerness of her night appointments, she said, gratefully, “You’re so kind to me, Miss Winthrop. Truly, I do appreciate it.”

“You sweet little thing,” returned the old lady. “Now let me unhook you,—I should admire to do so.”

So Miss Winthrop assisted Patty to undress, and finally, after minute directions about the turning down and blowing out of the kerosene lamp, she went away.

When Patty surveyed herself in the mirror, she almost laughed aloud. The night-dress was of thick, unbleached muslin, made with tight bands to button around the neck and wrists. These bands were edged with a row of narrow tatting; and it was this trimming, Patty felt sure, that differentiated Miss Winthrop’s best night-gown from her others. Then Patty tried on the dressing-gown, which was of dark grey flannel. This, too, was severely plain, though voluminous in shape; and the slippers were of black felt, and quite large enough for Patty to put both feet in one. She arrayed herself in these things and gave way to silent laughter as she pirouetted across the room. But her amusement at the unattractive garments in no way lessened her real appreciation of the gentle kindliness and hospitality that had been accorded to her.

At last she tucked herself into bed, and rolling over on the nubbly mattress and creaky springs, she almost wished that it had been a feather bed. But she was soon asleep, and thought no more about anything until morning.

Breakfast was at half-past seven, and after that, the long morning dragged. The fun and novelty had worn off, and Patty was anxious to get back to Fern Falls. She was bright and entertaining as ever, but the spontaneous enthusiasm of the day before had vanished.

But it was impossible to start that morning, Philip said. The roads were piled high with drifts, and almost impassable.

“But why can’t we break the roads?” asked Patty. “Somebody has to do it, and I’m sure Jim’s horses are as good as anybody’s.”

“Little girls mustn’t advise on matters which they know nothing about,” said Philip, unable to resist the temptation to tease her.

Patty pouted a little, and then, with a sudden resolution, was her own sunny self again. “All right, Philip,” she said, smiling at him. “I know you’ll start as soon as it’s possible. When will that be?”

“Perhaps we can go this afternoon, dear; right after dinner, maybe. The man thinks the roads will be broken by that time.”

The storm had ceased, and it was cloudy most of the morning, but about noon the sun came out, and by two o’clock they prepared to start.

The two kind old ladies were sorry to see them go, and begged them to come again some time to visit them.

Patty said good-bye with expressions of real and honestly meant gratitude, for surely Mrs. Fay and her sister had been kindness itself to their young guests.

“But goodness, gracious, Philip,” Patty exclaimed, as they went flying down the road, “if I had had to stay there another night, I should have died!”

“Why, Patty, it wasn’t so bad. Of course, they are primitive and old-fashioned people; but they are true ladies, even if not very highly educated. And their hospitality was simply unlimited.”

“Yes, I know all that,” said Patty, impatiently; “but I was bored to death.”

“Well, you didn’t show it; you were sweet as a peach to those two people, and they’ll always love you for it.”

“Oh, of course I wouldn’t be impolite; but I’m glad we’re started for home.”

“Well, I’m not. Patty, I just enjoyed every minute,—because I was there with you. Dear, you don’t know what it meant to me.”

“Now, Philip,” and Patty turned to flash a twinkling smile at him, “we have a twelve-mile drive ahead of us, besides gathering the eggs. Now, if you’re going to say things like that to me all that twelve miles, I’m going to jump right out into this snowbank and stay there till somebody comes along and picks me up.”

“But, Patty, I must say these things to you.”

“Then, I must jump.”

“But wait a minute, dear; before you jump, won’t you just tell me that I may have a little hope that some day you’ll promise to be my own little Patty forever?”

“Philip, I can’t say anything like that, and I wish you wouldn’t tease me. If those snowbanks didn’t look so dreadfully cold——”

“But they are cold. If you don’t believe it, I will wait while you try one. But, Patty, anyway, tell me this. If I stop teasing you now, will you give me an answer when I come back at New Year’s? You know, I must take that five-thirty train this afternoon, and I shan’t see you again till next week. Will you give me an answer then?”

“‘Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do!’” sang Patty, with a saucy smile at him.

“No, I don’t want Daisy’s answer, I want yours. Now, you think it over through the week, and when I come up next Tuesday, you be ready to say, ‘Yes, Philip, you may hope, and some day I’ll make your hope come true.’”

“That’s an awful long speech to learn by heart,” said Patty, musingly.

“But you needn’t learn it word for word; just say something from your own heart that means the same.”

“Well,” said Patty, “next Tuesday I’ll look into my heart and see what’s there; and if there’s anything for you, I’ll tell you.”

Philip was forced to be content with this, for Patty suddenly changed the subject, and began to chatter merry nonsense that afforded no opportunity for romance. The roads were only a little broken, and the going was hard, because of occasional big drifts, but along some wind-swept stretches they made fairly good time.

“But I say,” said Philip; “we’ll have to cut out the butter and egg chapter! I simply must get that five-thirty, and I can’t do it if we go around by Hatton’s Corners.”

“All right,” returned Patty. “I’ll put it up to AdÈle that we just couldn’t do it; and I’ll tell you what, Philip, we’ll go right to the station, and you take the train there without going to the Kenerleys’ at all. They’ll send your things down to-morrow.”

“That would be the safer way. But how will you get home from the station?”

“Oh, I’ll telephone from the station office, and they’ll send Martin, or somebody, after me.”

“But you have to wait so long. Here’s a better plan. Let’s stop at the Barclay Inn, and telephone from there. Then when we reach the station, Martin or somebody will be there for you.”

Patty agreed, and when they reached the Barclay Inn, a few miles from Fern Falls, they went in to telephone.

“We’re on our way home,” said Patty, after she had succeeded in getting a connection.

“Well, I should think it was time!” exclaimed AdÈle. “You don’t know what you’ve missed! Where are you?”

“At Barclay Inn; and we’re in an awful hurry. Philip is going to take the five-thirty from the station, and you send somebody there to meet me and drive the horses home, will you! And what did I miss? And you’ll miss the butter and eggs, because we didn’t get them.”

“But where have you been? We tried all yesterday to get you on the telephone, and all this morning, too.”

“Yes, I know; the wires broke down. But everything’s all right. We stayed at Mrs. Fay’s. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. Be sure to have me met at the station. Good-bye.”

Patty hung up the receiver and hurried back to Philip. “We’ll have to hustle to catch that train,” he said, as he tucked her in the sleigh. “Did you get AdÈle?”

“Yes; she’ll send some one to meet me. She says I missed something. Do you suppose they had a party last night in all that blizzard?”

“Well, it’s just as well for you to miss a party once in a while; you have plenty of them. And I like the party I was at better than any I ever went to.”

The roads were much better where they were travelling now, and they reached the station in time for Philip’s train. But it was a close connection, for the train was already in the station, and as Philip swung aboard, he saw Martin and Hal Ferris coming in another sleigh.

“There they are!” he called to Patty. “It’s all right, good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” she called back, and then the train pulled out.

“Well, you did cut up a pretty trick!” exclaimed Hal Ferris, as he came up to her. “Now, you jump in here with me, and I’ll drive you home, and let Martin look after your horses. They must be pretty well done up. I would have brought a motor, but the sleighing’s fine, and the motoring isn’t. Hop in.”

Patty hopped in, and in a moment they were flying along toward home.

“What did I miss?” she asked. “Did you have a party last night?”

“Party! in that storm! Rather not.”

“Well, what did I miss?”

“What makes you think you missed anything?”

“AdÈle told me so, over the telephone.”

“Well, then, let AdÈle tell you what it was. How could I possibly know?”

“But what did you do last night?”

“Nothing much; sat around, sang a little, and talked,—and I guess that’s all.”

“Who was there? Didn’t Roger go home?”

“Yes; Roger went down on the morning train, just after you started on your wild career.”

“Well, who was there? Chub, I know you’re keeping something from me. Now, tell me what it is!”

“Do you really want to know, Patty? Well, Bill Farnsworth was there.”

“What!” and Patty nearly fell out of the sleigh in astonishment. “Bill Farnsworth?”

“Yes; he came unexpectedly yesterday afternoon. Could only stay twenty-four hours, and went back to-day on the two o’clock train.”

Patty wondered to herself why she felt as if something awful had happened. She couldn’t realise that Bill had been there, and had gone away, and she hadn’t seen him! What a cruel coincidence that it should have been just at the time when she was away. But her pride came to her rescue. She had no intention of letting Hal Ferris or anybody else know that she cared.

So she said, lightly: “Well, of all things! Didn’t anybody expect him?”

“No; he thought he’d surprise us. He was awfully cut up that you weren’t there.”

“Oh, he was! Well, why didn’t you send for me?”

“Send for you! And you miles away, and a blizzard blizzing like fury! But we spent hours hanging over the telephone, trying to get word to you.”

“The wires were down,” said Patty, thinking of the uninteresting evening she had spent, when she might have been talking to Little Billee.

“They sure were! We tried and tried, but we couldn’t get a peep out of you. Daisy said it was because you were so wrapped up in Philip that you wouldn’t answer the old telephone.”

Patty’s pretty face hardened a little as she thought how Daisy would delight in making such a speech as that before Farnsworth.

“I say, Patty, are you cut up about this? Did you want to see Big Bill, specially?”

“Oh, no, no,” said Patty, smiling again. “I only thought it seemed funny that he happened to come when I happened to be away.”

“Yes, I know; but of course nobody could help it. He came East on a flying business trip. Tried to get here for Christmas, but couldn’t make it. He waited over a day, just to skip up here and back; said he wanted to see us all. But he had to take the two o’clock back to New York to-day, and I believe he starts to-night for Arizona. He’s a great fellow, Bill is. You like him, don’t you, Patty?”

“Yes, I like him,” said Patty, simply.

“I’ve known him for years, you know. Giant Greatheart, we used to call him. So big and good, you know. Always doing something for somebody, and generous as he can be. Well, he’s making good out in the mines. I don’t know exactly what he’s doing, but he’s in a fair way to be a rich man. He’s connected with some big company, and he’s working with all his might. And when you say that about Big Bill Farnsworth, it means a good deal.”