The winter dragged on slowly. January passed, and February came and went. There had been plenty of sledding on the Common; and there were numerous ponds and swamps, where Don tried his new upturned skates that his Uncle David had given him on his birthday.
March was drawing to a close when Don unexpectedly found a new friend. It was Sunday evening, and Aunt Martha and Uncle David and Don were seated in front of a roaring fire on the hearth, when two loud knocks sounded at the door. Before Uncle David could get to his feet it swung open, and a short heavy-set man dressed in deerskin entered.
“Glen Drake!” exclaimed Uncle David. “By the stars, what in the world brings you out of the woods?”
“Oh, I just meandered down,” replied the other, clasping the outstretched hand. “Thought maybe you’d be glad to see me.”
“Glad? I surely am! Here—you know Aunt Martha.” Glen Drake shook hands with Don’s aunt. “And here—this is my nephew Donald.”
Don felt the bones in his hand fairly grate as the man pressed it.
“Draw up a chair, Glen,” said Uncle David.
But Glen Drake had crossed to the door and slipped outside. In a moment he was back, carrying a large bundle in both arms. “A little present for Aunt Martha,” he said and dropped it on the floor in the centre of the room. “There’s a silver fox among ’em.”
“Furs!” cried Don.
“Why, Glen Drake,” began Aunt Martha, “you don’t mean to say——”