"Hark, Sandy! Did some one knock?" asked Mrs. McLeod, as she looked toward the door.
"Nae ane's aboot this night—Ay, Margaret, ye're right as usual, there's a faint sound, an' I'll be seein',—"
"Oh, Mr. McLeod, let me come in," said a girl's voice.
"That I will, ye puir waif,—by all the saints, it's Phoebe Small! Here Margaret! Janie! the lass is faintin'."
"Oh, no I'm not," Phoebe answered, but her white face was not reassuring and Sandy and Margaret were obliged to lead her to the great chair by the fire.
Janie loosened her boots which were covered with snow, and removing them, set them to dry in a corner of the fireplace. Then she brought a cricket and, handy little maid, lifted Phoebe's feet upon it, that the heat from the fire might warm them.
Soon Margaret McLeod had made a cup of tea, and it seemed to Phoebe that nothing had ever tasted so delicious. Sandy stood beside her, offering the lunch which Margaret had prepared, insisting gently that she must eat heartily before going out into the night.
"For I shall take ye hame, lass, I know that's where ye wad be, and warm in the bear skin I'll wrap ye, an' in the sleigh 'twill be nae time before we'll be at ye're door."
"I could not stay away another day. The road from the depot was so lonely, and I was so afraid,—"
Phoebe was crying now, and Sandy laid his rough hand gently upon her shoulder.