“There ain’t,” answered the woman, stepping outside and pulling a faded gray sweater around her shoulders. “Clem’s gone to East Conroy with the eggs, and Dave’s up to the camp keepin’ yer fire goin’. You can take the sled and carry yer stuff on that. There ’tis, by the gate. Dave’ll bring it back when he comes. An’ tell him to hurry. Like as not, Clem won’t get back in time fer milkin’.”
“I thought Dave was goin’ to help Teacher decorate the school this afternoon,” ventured Ira. He was unloading their things as he spoke and roping them to the sled.
“So’d he,” responded the woman; “but there wa’n’t no one else to light that fire, was they? Guess it won’t hurt him none to work for his livin’ like other folks. That new school-ma’am, she thinks o’ nothin’ but——”
“Oh, look here!” said the young man, straightening up, a belligerent light in his blue eyes, “it’s Christmas! Can Dave go back with me if I stop and milk for him? They’ll be workin’ all evenin’—lots o’ fun for a kid like him, and——”
“No, he can’t!” snapped the woman. “His head’s enough turned now with speakin’ pieces and singin’ silly songs. You better be gettin’ on, folks. I can’t stand here talkin’ till mornin’.”
She slammed the door, while Ira glared after her retreating figure, kicked the gate post to relieve his feelings, and then grinned sheepishly.
“Some grouch! Why, she didn’t even ask you in to get warm! Well, I wouldn’t loiter if I was you. And send that kid right back, or he’ll get worse’n a tongue-lashin’. Well, good-by to you, folks. Hope you have a Merry Christmas.”
The tramp up the mountain passed almost entirely in silence, for it took their united energy to drag the sled up that steep grade against the wind. Scott drew a breath of relief when they beheld the camp, a spiral of smoke rising from its big stone chimney like a welcome promise of warmth.
“Looks grand, doesn’t it? But it’ll be dark before that boy gets home. I wonder how old——”
They stopped simultaneously as a clear, sweet voice sounded from within the cabin: