Hinpoha listened to his disgruntled “pewit phoebe, pewit phoebe,” and made haste to throw him some crumbs.  It seemed like a delicious joke to her that he should be calling so plaintively for his phoebe, not knowing that there was a Phoebe on the premises all the while.  And one day the little mate came and both birds forgot the snow and cold in the joy of their reunion.  Phoebes consider it extremely indecorous to travel in mixed company, (just like Aunt Phoebe, thought Hinpoha humorously,) so the females linger behind for several days after the males start north and join them in the seclusion of their own homes.  Hinpoha’s heart sang in sympathy with the joy of the reunited lovers.

Sahwah had come over to get her lessons with Hinpoha, and as she turned the leaves of her “Cicero” a little red heart dropped out on the floor.  Hinpoha stooped to pick it up.  “What’s this?” she asked with interest.  Sahwah blushed.

“Ned Roberts—­you remember Ned Roberts up at camp—­sent it to me for a valentine.”  Hinpoha went back in her thoughts to the dance at the Mountain Lake Camp the summer before, where she had had such a royal good time.  How far removed that time seemed now!

“I wonder if Sherry ever writes to Nyoda,” she said musingly.

“I don’t believe he does,” said Sahwah, “for Nyoda has never said anything.”  If they could have seen Nyoda at that very moment, reading a certain letter and thrusting it into her bureau drawer with a pile of others bearing the same post-mark, they would really have had something to gossip about.

“Did you ever see such a snowfall in March?” said Hinpoha, looking out the window at the white landscape.

“It must be perfectly grand coasting,” said Sahwah, ever with an eye for sport.  “Dick Albright promised he would take us out on his new bob the next time there was snow, and this is the next time, and will probably be the last time.  Do you suppose you could come along?”

“I doubt it,” said Hinpoha.  “Aunt Phoebe thinks coasting is too rough.  Did I ever tell you the time mother and I coasted down the walk and ran into Aunt Phoebe?” Sahwah laughed heartily over the story.

“Poor Aunt Phoebe!” she said, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes.  “She is bound to get all the shocks that flesh is heir to.”

As she was walking home through the snow that afternoon some one came up behind her and took her books from her hand.  It was Dick Albright.  “Good afternoon, Miss Brewster,” he said formally.

“Good afternoon, Mr.  Albright,” said Sahwah in the same tone, her eyes dancing in her head.  Then she burst out, “Oh, Dick, won’t you take us coasting to-morrow night?  This is positively the last snow of the season.”

“Sure,” said Dick.  “Take you to-night if you want to.”

Sahwah shook her head. “‘Strictly nothing doing,’ to quote your own elegant phrase,” she said.  “I’ve a German test on to-morrow morning, and consequently have an engagement with my friend Wilhelm Tell to-night.  I’ve simply got to get above eighty-five in this test or go below passing for the month.  I got through last month without ever looking at it, but it won’t work again this month.”