At half-past seven, Ed Church swung into Jim Lee's yard, with a horse all bells, and a cutter a billow of buffalo robes. He did not dare leave Grey Eagle, his pet colt, for Grey Eagle was restless with the wintry evening air and wanted to go. So Ed Church notified Lide of his coming by shouting, “House!” with a great voice.
Grey Eagle made a plunge at the sound, but was brought up by the bit.
“How'dy do, Ed,” said Lide, as she came out the side door. She looked rosy and pretty with her muskrat muff and cape.
“Hello, Lide,” said Ed. “You'll have to scramble in yourself. I can hardly hold the colt this weather, when he don't have nothin' to do but eat.”
Lide scrambled in. As Ed Church stood up in the cutter to allow Lide a chance to be seated, her face came close to his. Taking his eyes from Grey Eagle for the mere fraction of a second, he kissed her dexterously. Lide received the caress with the most admirable composure, and Ed Church himself did not act as if the idea was a discovery or the experiment new.
“Let him out, Ed!” said Lide, when they were well into the road.
There was a foot of snow on the ground. The fence corners showed great drifts, while each rail of the fence had a ruffle of its own of cold, white snow. As far as one could see in the moonlight, the fields to each side were like milk. In the background stood the grey woods laced against the sky. Here and there a lamp shone in a neighbour's window like an eye of fire.
Stowe Township was out that night. The steady beat of the bells could be heard ahead and behind. Ed Church sent Grey Eagle forward with long strides, the cutter following over the hard, packed snow with no more of resistance than a feather. Lide held her muff to her face, so that she might open her mouth to talk without catching any of the flying snowballs from Grey Eagle's nervous hoofs.
“It'll be a big spellin'-school to-night,” said Lide.
“Yes, I guess it will,” replied Ed. “I hear folks are comin' clear from Hammond Corners.”