“Won’t you take this scarf of mine? I do not need it in the least, and you look so cold,” she said, with gentle pity in her tone, as she held a big woollen scarf towards him.
“You are very kind, but I could not deprive you of your wraps,” he answered, with a little bow.
“But please, I do not want it,” said Bertha, pressing the gaudy woollen thing upon him. She had knitted it herself last winter for a sofa blanket, but, like most of her undertakings in the direction of fancy-work, it had turned out quite different from what she had intended it to be, and as it was much too narrow and twice too long for a sofa blanket, it had been laid aside to come in useful some day. Then, when the long cold journey west had to be undertaken, there certainly seemed a chance of its finding a use at last. But so far she had not been sufficiently cold to make her willing to wind those shades of blue, yellow, grey, and brown wools round her throat.
“Are you sure?” His voice was wistful, and she could see that he was trembling with cold.
“Quite sure.” As she spoke Bertha got up, and, taking the scarf, she wound it round and round his neck and shoulders, so getting for the first time a little satisfaction out of that sorely bungled piece of fancy-work which ought to have turned out so different in shape and size.
The man was so old and frail, that it became a sort of duty to look after him. Moreover, he reminded her a little of poor old Jan Saunders, whom she liked as much as she disliked Mrs. Saunders. The reminder was only that of association, for whereas Jan was a rough, uneducated man, this individual whom she was befriending spoke like a person of culture and refinement.
“Are you going far in this direction?” the old man asked presently, when he had thanked her for her goodness to him.
“Only to Rownton by rail, but I have a cross-country journey of about thirty miles after that,” she answered, giving a glance at the whirling snow atoms outside, and wondering however that journey would be accomplished in this sort of weather.
“And I have come wrong, and shall have to take the next cars back to Gilbert Plains Junction, for I took a west fork cars instead of going for an east fork train. These trunk lines are very bewildering to a stranger,” he remarked, with a little petulance in his tone.
“Yes; indeed I think that I should have gone wrong several times if I had not had my directions written out so very plainly for me,” answered Bertha, with a laugh.