“Pretty well with one,” said Steve, and there was a slight gleam in his eye as he recalled Randolph's bachelor boast that he could manage forty women. “Now for the thirty-nine.”
“Steve,” said Randolph, “you're a good fellow, but you'll have to let up on that forty. I had sense enough, after all, to marry only one of them, and occasionally I have my doubts—looks a little as if even that one managed me. Just you drop the thirty-nine. You're using the poker too freely.”
And then they fell to talking about how warm it was on this same day three years ago.
Steve was right, for that afternoon it began to snow and it forgot to stop. He had hard work to get home and still harder to get out and attend to the little stock. The chickens, he found, had had the sense to go to roost before time; both Brownie and the cat were safe indoor; they could look out for themselves, but the gentle, fawn-like Jersey (quite a different animal from the wild-eyed beast of three years agone) had expectations, and she must needs receive especial care.
After Steve had fed her and seen that she was comfortable for the night, he made his way into the house with a feeling that only a very happy man can understand.
Nannie was busy upstairs and called to him not to come up, as she had a surprise in store. He was to stir the fire and set her chair, which she would fill directly, and Steve had done all this and now was walking about the room, which was bright and pretty in the firelight, handling the books and magazines, trying a chord or two on the piano, and looking occasionally from the windows out into the night.
That was wild enough, what with wind, and ice, and snow. Every now and then the little house shuddered in the blast, which was shrieking in the chimneys. The window glass was bearded with snow, which melted here and there and ran for a little space; then, lest one should fancy the weather were shedding repentant tears, it stiffened into ice straightway. Down at the foot of the bluff the lake was booming; there was something to make the blood run cold about its mighty passion. One thought of the boats at its mercy that night and whispered, God help them!
There, in the center of it all, 'neath the trees that were clashing arms with one another in the storm, stood the snug little home, with the study, over whose pictured walls the cheery, flickering light played at glow and shadow. And there, close to the merry blaze, poker in hand, sat Steve, as happy, as well content a man as you'd find, though you looked far and wide. Brownie occupied the other chair, and it appeared that he had much to say. Nannie was singing—singing to the baby upstairs—and Steve and Brownie hearkened to the pretty notes.
“You hear that, sir?” asked Brownie, with his head slightly tilted and cocked on one side.
Steve poked assent at the fire.