"'T want thread, nor rice," she thought, as Elmiry went out, "and I know 't want her handkerchief. I reckon 'twas her valentine she was lowin' to send away, and didn't, 'cause she thought I'd look. She ain't goin' to fool me though."
Dusk brought the storm which had threatened for two days, and a bitter north wind came with it. In an hour the world was white, and belated foot-falls were muffled by the snow. At nine the store closed, and at half-past nine, Elmiry Ann Rogers wrapped her threadbare shawl around her and started down the street to the post-office.
It was a difficult journey, for the snow was three inches deep and was still coming down, but Elmiry knew the way so well that she could have gone with her eyes shut, if necessary.
She was stiff with the cold when she got there, and was fumbling with the opening in the door marked "mail" when a deep masculine voice at her elbow startled her into an impulsive little scream.
"Why, Miss Rogers," it said, "what are you doin' here this time o' night?"
"My goodness, Mr. Weeks, how you scairt me!" she answered trembling.
"You shouldn't be out a night like this," he continued, "it ain't fittin'."
"I—I jest come out to mail a letter,—an important letter," said Elmiry weakly.
"Why that's funny—so did I! Strange that we should meet, ain't it? And now, Miss Rogers, I'm goin' to take you home."
"Oh, you mustn't, Mr. Weeks," cried Elmiry in a panic, "I'd feel wicked to take you out of your way a night like this, and 't'aint but a few steps anyway."