"No, it does not grow here," replied Aunt Faith; "our climate is too warm for it."
"There is a great difference between the climate of the lake country and that of New England," said Mr. Leslie; "there is so little snow here."
"Snow!" exclaimed Bessie. "I scarcely know what snow is; and as for stories of drifts over the fences, and tunnels cut through them, I can scarcely believe anything of the kind. They are as much like legends to me as the fairy tale of little Kay and the Robber Maiden. Once at Featherton Hall the eastern girls were talking about sleigh-riding, and I told them that snow was so scarce in Westerton that when a few snow-flakes actually fell, they were immediately fenced in and guarded by the police, and then the whole population assembled in sleighs, cutters, and pungs, to ride over them in alphabetical order. Of course, as aunt's name began with S, there was not much left of the snow-flakes when our turn came."
"You ridiculous child!" said Aunt Faith, laughing, "how can you invent such exaggerations?"
"Oh, Bessie can invent anything!" said Hugh, coming out from the sitting-room; "if she had charge of even the Patent-Office Reports, she would gild them into veritable romances."
Later in the evening, Graham Marr came up the garden walk.
"Good-evening, Mrs. Sheldon!" he said; "is Miss Warrington at home?"
"Yes; she is in the parlor," said Aunt Faith. "Will you go in, Mr.
Marr?"
"Thank you, yes. I came especially to see her," replied Graham, taking off his straw hat, and passing through the group on the piazza.
"Excuse me, Miss Darrell. Is that you, Hugh? Ah!—Mr. Leslie, I believe. I did not observe you in the darkness. I hope you experienced no ill feeling after your exposure yesterday?"
"None at all, Mr. Marr. And you?"