After walking in the open road for a little while she came under the great elm trees that held their leafless limbs in wide arch over the village street.  Here a footpath was shovelled in the snow, on either side of the sleigh road.  The sun was throwing down the graceful lines of elm twigs on path and snowdrift.  The snow lawns in front of the village houses were pure and bright; little children played in them with tiny sledge and snow spade, often under the watchful eye of a mother who sat sewing behind the window pane.  Now and then sleighs passed on the central road with a cheerful jingle of bells.

When Eliza, with the children, came to the centre of the village, it became necessary to cross the street.  She was bound for the largest shop, that stood under part of the great hotel, and just here, opposite the hotel, quite a number of sleighs were passing.  Eliza picked up the little one in her arms, and, taking the other child by the hand, essayed to cross.  But one reckons without one’s host in counting surely on the actions of children.  Sturdy five-year-old baulked like a little horse, and would not come.  Eliza coaxed in vain.  A long line of draught-horses, dragging blue box-sleighs, came slowly up the road, each jingling a heavy belt of bells.  Five-year-old was frightened and would not come.  Eliza, without irritation, but at the same time without hesitation, took it by the waist under her left arm and started again.  She got half across before the child seemed thoroughly to realise what was occurring, and then, with head and arms in front and little gaitered legs behind, it began to struggle so violently that the young woman, strong and composed as she was, was brought for a minute to a standstill.

Two men were watching her from the smoking-room of the hotel; the one an elderly man, the owner of the house, had his attention arrested by the calm force of character Eliza was displaying; the other, the young American dentist, saw in the incident an excuse for interference, and he rushed out now to the rescue, and gallantly carried the little naughty one safely to the right side of the road.

Eliza, recognising him, saw that he was looking at her with the pleasant air of an old acquaintance—­one, in fact, who knew her so well that any formal greeting was unnecessary—­not that she knew anything about greetings, or what might or might not be expected, but she had an indistinct sense that he was surprisingly friendly.

“How’s the stove going?” then he asked.  He escorted her into the shop, and superintended her little purchases in a good-natured, elder-brother fashion.  That done, he carried the elder child across the road again, and Eliza went upon her way back down the long narrow pavement, with the children at her side.