The girl's eyes sparkled as she viewed the dejected looking building, "And that will be our home!" she cried.
"Not by a long shot, it won't!" laughed Brent, "We'll do better than that. I never want to see the inside of the place again! Yes, I do—just once. I want to go there and get a book—the book that lured me to the Coppermine—the book in which is written the name of Murdo MacFarlane. We will always keep that book, darling. And some day we will get it bound in leather and gold."
Before a little white-painted house that stood back from the street, the man paused: "The Reeves' live here," he announced, and as he turned into the neatly shovelled path that led to the door, he reached down and pressed the girl's hand reassuringly: "Mrs. Reeves is an old, old friend," he whispered, "She will be a sister to you."
As Brent led the way along the narrow path his eyes rested upon the slope of snow-buried earth that pitched sharply against the base of the walls of the house, "Hardest work I ever did," he grinned, "Hope the floor kept warm."
As he waited the answer to his knock upon the
door, he noticed casually that Zinn sauntered past and turned abruptly into the street that led straight to Cuter Malone's. The next instant the door was opened and Reba Reeves stood framed in the doorway. Brent saw that in the gloom of early evening she did not recognize him. "Is Mr. Reeves home?" he asked.
"Yes, won't you step in? answered the woman, standing aside.
"Thank you. I think we will."
Something in the man's tone caused the woman to step quickly forward and peer sharply into his face: "Carter Brent!" she cried, and the next instant the man's hands were in both of hers, and she was pulling him into the room. Like a flash Brent remembered that other time she had called his name in a tone of intense surprise, and that there had been tears in her eyes then, even as there were tears in her eyes now, but this time they were tears of gladness. And then, from another room came Reeves, and a pair of firm hands were laid upon his shoulders and he was spun around to meet the gaze of the searching grey eyes that stared into his own. Brent laughed happily as he noted the start of surprise that accompanied Reeves' words: "Good Lord! What a change!" A hand slipped from his shoulder and grasped his own.
A moment later, Brent freed the hand, and as Mrs. Reeves lighted the lamp, turned and drew Snowdrift toward him. "And now I want you to