She had not expected people to come to see her like this, and was surprised by the genial warmth and real affection of the greetings they had given her. Everybody was laughing and talking, the little room was full to brimming when Bill Grant appeared in the doorway, and beside him the tall, gaunt figure of the woman Sophie loved more than any other woman on the Ridge—Maggie Grant, looking not a day older, and wearing a blue print dress with a pin-spot washed almost out of it, as she had done as long as Sophie could remember.
Sophie went to the long, straight glance of her eyes as to a call. Maggie kissed her. She did not speak; but her beautiful, deep-set eyes spoke for her. Sophie shook hands with Bill Grant.
"Glad to see you back again, Sophie," he said simply.
"Thank you, Bill," she replied.
Then Potch came in; and behind him, slowly, from out of the night, Snow-Shoes. The Grants had moved from the door to give him passage; but he stood outside a moment, his tall, white figure and old sugar-loaf hat outlined against the blue-dark wall of the night sky, as though he did not know whether he would go into the room or not.
Then he crossed the threshold, took off his hat, and stood in a stiff, gallant attitude until Sophie saw him. He had a fistful of yellow flowers in one hand. Everybody knew Sophie had been fond of punti. But there were only a few bushes scattered about the Ridge, and they had done flowering a month ago, so Snow-Shoes' bouquet was something of a triumph. He must have walked miles, to the swamp, perhaps, to find it, those who saw him knew.
"Oh, Mr. Riley!" Sophie cried, as she went to shake hands with him.
"They still call me Snow-Shoes, Sophie," the old man said.
The men laughed, and Sophie joined them. She knew, as they all did, that although anyone of them was called by the name the Ridge gave him, no one ever addressed Snow-Shoes as anything but Mr. Riley.
He held the flowers out to her.