Mr. Dill declared that it was one of his favorite compositions, so Miss Rosie obligingly stood forth with the dog-eared music.
“When the Robins Nest Again, and the flower-r-rs—” she was warbling, but they never bloomed, for Mrs. Snow started for the door, explaining: “I’m sure I heard a scrunching.” She threw it open and the yellow light fell upon a gaunt figure leaning against the entrance of the snow tunnel. The man was covered with frost and icicles where his breath had frozen on his cap and upturned collar, while it was obvious from his snow-caked knees and elbows that he had fallen often. He stood staring dumbly at the light and warmth and at Ma Snow, then he stooped and began fumbling clumsily at the strappings of his snow-shoes.
“Won’t you-all come in?” Ma Snow, recovering a little from her surprise, asked hospitably.
He pitched forward and would again have gone down but that he threw out his hand and caught the door-jamb.
“Bruce Burt! Hell’s catoots! Bruce Burt!” Uncle Bill was on his knees outside in an instant, jerking and tugging at the snow-clogged buckles.
Chairs came down on their forelegs with a thump and Ore City shambled forward in curiosity and awkward congratulation. Mr. Dill did not move. He was gazing at the scene in mingled resentment and consternation. Was this the Bruce Burt whose claims he was sent to survey? It was plain enough that Bruce Burt “now deceased” was very much alive, and he, Dill, had crossed three summits on a wild goose chase, since it was obvious he could not relocate a man’s ground while he was actually living upon it. Why didn’t Sprudell find out that he was deceased before he sent a busy engineer on such a trip in winter? Mr. Dill sat frowning at Bruce, while willing hands helped him out of the coat his fingers were too stiff to unbutton.
“I’ve been coming since daylight.” He spoke thickly, as though even his tongue were cold. “I played out on the last big hill and sat so long I chilled.”
“And I guess you’re hungry,” Uncle Bill suggested.
Hungry! The word stabbed Ma Snow to the heart and her heels went clickity-click as she flew for the kitchen.
Divested of his coat Bruce looked a big, starved skeleton. The cords of his neck were visible when he turned his head, his cheeks were hollow, his wrist-bones were prominent like those of a fever convalescent.