Beth sat down on the footstool at her father's feet.
"You look well after your fall's work, Beth; hard study doesn't seem to
hurt you."
"I believe it agrees with me, father."
"Did you see much of Arthur while you were in Toronto, Beth? I was
hoping you would bring him home for the Christmas holidays."
"No, I never saw him once."
"Never saw him once!"
He looked at her a little sternly.
"Beth, what is the matter between you and Arthur?"
Ding! The old door-bell sounded. Beth drooped her head, but the bell had
attracted her father's attention, and Aunt Prudence thrust her head into
the parlor in her unceremonious way.
"Doctor, that Brown fellow, by the mill, is wuss, an' his wife's took
down, too. They think he's dyin'."
"Oh, daddy, I can't let you go out into this dreadful storm. Let me go
with you."
"Nonsense, child! I must go. It's a matter of life and death, perhaps.
Help me on with my coat, daughter, please, I've been out in worse storms
than this."
Beth thought her father looked so brave and noble in that big otter
overcoat, and his long white beard flowing down. She opened the door for
him, and the hall light shone out into the snow.
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