"Sam Dobbins," came the reply, and Nellie breathed more freely as she unlocked the door, opened it and admitted the visitor.
"'Tis a blasted night," the man remarked as he tried to shake himself free from his mantle of snow and stamped upon the floor with his great heavy boots. "If I'd known 'twas so bad I'd never stirred one step."
"Is anything wrong?" questioned Nellie, fearful lest Sam was the bearer of ill news. "Have you seen my father?"
"Your father! Isn't he home?" and the man looked his surprise.
"No, he hasn't come yet, and I'm so uneasy."
"Well, I declare, and to think that I have come all the way to see him, and he's not here. When do you expect him?"
"I expected him home before dark, but now I don't know what to think. Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Dobbins? Won't you take a seat?"
"No, there's nothin' you kin do, miss. I've got to see the parson, and only him. I hate the job, but I've got to do it. I'm the only constable in the place, and I've got to do my duty."
At these words a startled look came into Nellie's face. She took a step forward and looked keenly into the man's eyes.
"What do you mean?" she demanded. "I know you're a constable, but what do you want of my father? Oh, please tell me, quick!"