"All these?" laughed Dorian. "Well, we'll see-tomorrow," and with that
the children went to bed tremulously happy.

The next morning the sun arose on a most beautiful scene. The snow lay
deep on mountain and in valley. It ridged the fences and trees. Paths
and roads were obliterated.

The children were awake early. As Dorian dressed, he heard them
scampering down the stairs. Evidently, they were ready for him. He
looked out of the window. He would have to make good about that tree.

As yet, Dorian had found no traces of the object of his search. He had
not asked direct questions about her, but he would have to before he
left. There seemed some mystery always just before him. The mail-driver
would not be ready to go before noon, so Dorian would have time to get
the tree and help the children decorate it. Then he would have to find
out all there was to know about Carlia. Surely, she was somewhere in the
locality.

After breakfast, Dorian found the axe in the wood-shed, and began to
make his way through the deep snow up the hill toward a small grove of
pine. Behind the shoulder of a hill, he discovered another house, not so
large as Mr. Hickson's, but neat and comfortably looking. The blue
smoke of a wood fire was rising from the chimney. A girl was vigorously
shoveling a path from the house to the wood-pile. She was dressed in big
boots, a sweater, and a red hood. She did not see Dorian until he came
near the small clearing by the house. Straightening from her work,
she stood for a moment looking intently at him. Then with a low, yet
startled cry, she let the shovel fall, and sped swiftly back along the
newly-made path and into the house.