The daughter had just uttered some simple jest that filled them all with mirth, when the wind came through the Notch and seemed to pause before their cottage, rattling the door with a sound of wailing and lamentation before it passed into the valley.  For a moment it saddened them, though there was nothing unusual in the tones.  But the family were glad again when they perceived that the latch was lifted by some traveller whose footsteps had been unheard amid the dreary blast which heralded his approach and wailed as he was entering and went moaning away from the door.

Though they dwelt in such a solitude, these people held daily converse with the world.  The romantic pass of the Notch is a great artery through which the life-blood of internal commerce is continually throbbing between Maine on one side and the Green Mountains and the shores of the St. Lawrence on the other.  The stage-coach always drew up before the door of the cottage.  The wayfarer with no companion but his staff paused here to exchange a word, that the sense of loneliness might not utterly overcome him ere he could pass through the cleft of the mountain or reach the first house in the valley.  And here the teamster on his way to Portland market would put up for the night, and, if a bachelor, might sit an hour beyond the usual bedtime and steal a kiss from the mountain-maid at parting.  It was one of those primitive taverns where the traveller pays only for food and lodging, but meets with a homely kindness beyond all price.  When the footsteps were heard, therefore, between the outer door and the inner one, the whole family rose up, grandmother, children and all, as if about to welcome some one who belonged to them, and whose fate was linked with theirs.

The door was opened by a young man.  His face at first wore the melancholy expression, almost despondency, of one who travels a wild and bleak road at nightfall and alone, but soon brightened up when he saw the kindly warmth of his reception.  He felt his heart spring forward to meet them all, from the old woman who wiped a chair with her apron to the little child that held out its arms to him.  One glance and smile placed the stranger on a footing of innocent familiarity with the eldest daughter.

“Ah! this fire is the right thing,” cried he, “especially when there is such a pleasant circle round it.  I am quite benumbed, for the Notch is just like the pipe of a great pair of bellows; it has blown a terrible blast in my face all the way from Bartlett.”

“Then you are going toward Vermont?” said the master of the house as he helped to take a light knapsack off the young man’s shoulders.

“Yes, to Burlington, and far enough beyond,” replied he.  “I meant to have been at Ethan Crawford’s to-night, but a pedestrian lingers along such a road as this.  It is no matter; for when I saw this good fire and all your cheerful faces, I felt as if you had kindled it on purpose for me and were waiting my arrival.  So I shall sit down among you and make myself at home.”