"This wintry scene is new to you, Miss Danton. You don't have such wild snow storms in England?"
Kate glanced round, a little surprised.
It was very rarely indeed her father's housekeeper voluntarily addressed her.
"No," she said, "not like this; but I like it. We ought to have sleighing to-morrow, if it continues."
"Probably. We do not often have sleighing, though, in November."
There was another pause.
Kate yawned behind her white hand.
"I wish Father Francis would come up," she said wearily. "He is the only person in St. Croix worth talking to."
The dark, short November afternoon was deepening with snowy night, when through the ghostly twilight the buggy from the station whirled up to the door, and two gentlemen alighted. Great-coats, with upturned collars, and hats pulled down, disguised both, but Kate recognized her father, the taller and stouter, with a cry of delight.
"Papa!" she exclaimed; and ran out of the room to meet him. He was just entering, his jovial laugh ringing through the house as he shook the snow off, and caught her in his wet arms.