The question of candy seemed to bother them all.  Their last hopes went when there was not a box of candy in the postman’s bag.  What should they do for candy and nuts and oranges and—­

“Can you make candy?” asked the girl of Dorian as if she was aware she was asking the miraculous.

“Now children,” warned the happy mother.  “You have your hands full” she said to Dorian.  “There’s no limit to their demands.”

Dorian assured her that the greater pleasure was his.

“Tomorrow,” he told the clammering children, “we’ll see what we can do about the candy.”

“Chocolates?” asked one.

“Caramels,” chose another.

“Fudge,” suggested the third.

“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.

It was Carlia.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

Dorian stood knee-deep in the snow and watched the girl run back into the house.  In his surprise, he forgot his immediate errand.  He had found Carlia, found her well and strong; but why had she run from him with a cry of alarm?  She surely had recognized him; she would not have acted thus toward a stranger.  Apparently, she was not glad to see him.  He stood looking at the closed door, and a feeling of resentment came to him.  Here he had been searching for her all this time, only to be treated as if he were an unwelcome intruder.  Well, he would not force himself on her.  If she did not want to see him, why annoy her?  He could go back, tell her father where she was, and let him come for her.  He stood, hesitating.