“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.  She shuddered as she saw him staggering in the wind and sleet, then went back into the parlor.  It seemed lonely there, and she went on to the kitchen, where Aunt Prudence was elbow-deep in pastry.  A kitchen is always a cheerful place at Christmas time.  Beth’s fears seemed quieted, and she went back to the parlor to fix another branch of holly about a picture.  Ding!  Was any one else sick, she wondered, as she went to answer the bell.  She opened the door, and there stood Mrs. Perth!  It was really she, looking so frail and fair in her furs.

“Why, May, dear!  What are you doing out in this storm?”

“Oh, I’m nearly half dead, Beth.”  She tried to laugh, but the attempt was not exactly a success.

Beth took her in to the fire, removed her wraps, all matted with snow, and called to Aunt Prudence for some hot tea.

“Is your father out to-night, Beth?” asked May.

“Yes, he went away out to the Browns’.  But wherever have you been?”

“I’ve been taking some Christmas things to a poor family about two miles out in the country, and I didn’t think the storm so very bad when I started; but I’m like the Irishman with his children, I’ve ’more’n I want’—­of sleet, at any rate.  Walter is away to-night, you know.”

“Mr. Perth away!  Where?”

“Oh, he went to Simcoe.  He has two weddings.  They are friends of ours, and we didn’t like to refuse.  But it’s mean, though,” she continued, with a sweet, affected little pout; “he’ll not get back till afternoon, and it’s Christmas, too.”

“Oh, May dear, you’ll just stay right here with us to-night, and for dinner to-morrow.  Isn’t that just fine!” Beth was dancing around her in child-like glee.  Mrs. Perth accepted, smiling at her pleasure; and they sat on the couch, chatting.

“Did you say Dr. Woodburn had gone to the Browns’.”

“Yes, Mrs. Brown is sick, too.”

“Oh, isn’t it dreadful?  They’re so poor, too.  I don’t believe they’ve a decent bed in the house.”

“Eight!  There, the clock just struck.  Father ought to be back.  It was only a little after six when he went out.”

She looked anxiously at the drawn curtains, but the sleet beating harder and harder upon the pane was her only answer.

“There he is now!” she cried, as a step entered the hall, and she rushed to meet him.

“Oh, daddy, dear—­why, father!”