The stove lighted, Joe Norton turned to his guests.

"Bless me, and to think of you, Mrs. Abbot, and Miss Jacky, too. I must
fetch the o'd 'ooman. Hi, Molly, Molly, bestir yourself, old girl. Come
on down, an' help the ladies. They've come for shelter out o' the
blizzard--good luck to it."

"Oh, no, don't disturb her, Joe," exclaimed Mrs. Abbot; "it's really too
bad, at this unearthly hour. Besides, we shall be quite comfortable here
by the stove."

"No doubt--no doubt," said the old man, cheerfully, "but that's not my
way--not my way. Any of you froze," he went on ungrammatically, "'cause
if so, out you go and thaw it out in the snow."

"I guess there's no one frozen," said Jacky, smiling into the old man's
face. "We're too old birds for that. Ah, here's Mrs. Norton."

Another warm greeting and the two ladies were hustled off to the only
spare bedroom the Nortons boasted. By this time "Lord" Bill and "Poker"
John had returned from the stables. While the ladies were removing their
furs, which were sodden with the melting snow, the farmer's wife was
preparing a rough but ample meal of warm provender in the kitchen. Such
is hospitality in the Far North-West.

When the supper was prepared the travellers sat down to the substantial
fare. None were hungry--be it remembered that it was three o'clock in
the morning--but each felt that some pretense in that direction must be
made, or the kindly couple would think their welcome was insufficient.