[CHAPTER XVII]
"There's snow on the hill-tops," said Clara.
"Yes, I saw."
"Did you have a cold drive?"
"I wasn't cold."
"My dear, your hands are like bits of ice. And your feet, too, I expect. Let me take your boots off for you."
"No, no, please. I'll do it."
"Very well. You sit there and toast your toes, and you shall have some nice hot tea in a minute."
Edward Webb pattered down the stone passage, and put his head in at the door.
"Theresa, come and look at the Blue Hill. It's wonderful in this light—wonderful."