"No, I never saw him once."
"Never saw him once!"
He looked at her a little sternly.
"Beth, what is the matter between you and Arthur?"
Ding! The old door-bell sounded. Beth drooped her head, but the bell had attracted her father's attention, and Aunt Prudence thrust her head into the parlor in her unceremonious way.
"Doctor, that Brown fellow, by the mill, is wuss, an' his wife's took down, too. They think he's dyin'."
"Oh, daddy, I can't let you go out into this dreadful storm. Let me go with you."
"Nonsense, child! I must go. It's a matter of life and death, perhaps. Help me on with my coat, daughter, please, I've been out in worse storms than this."
Beth thought her father looked so brave and noble in that big otter overcoat, and his long white beard flowing down. She opened the door for him, and the hall light shone out into the snow. She shuddered as she saw him staggering in the wind and sleet, then went back into the parlor. It seemed lonely there, and she went on to the kitchen, where Aunt Prudence was elbow-deep in pastry. A kitchen is always a cheerful place at Christmas time. Beth's fears seemed quieted, and she went back to the parlor to fix another branch of holly about a picture. Ding! Was any one else sick, she wondered, as she went to answer the bell. She opened the door, and there stood Mrs. Perth! It was really she, looking so frail and fair in her furs.
"Why, May, dear! What are you doing out in this storm?"