They worked the rest of the evening, but the telephone refused to revive and every one was starving.  Individually our pride was at low ebb, but collectively it was still formidable.  So we sat around and Jim played Grieg with the soft stops on, and Aunt Selina went to bed.  The weather had changed, and it was sleeting, but anything was better than the drawing room.  I was in a mood to battle with the elements or to cry—­or both—­so I slipped out, while Dal was reciting “Give me three grains of corn, mother,” threw somebody’s overcoat over my shoulders, put on a man’s soft hat—­Jim’s I think—­and went up to the roof.

It was dark in the third floor hall, and I had to feel my way to the foot of the stairs.  I went up quietly, and turned the knob of the door to the roof.  At first it would not open, and I could hear the wind howling outside.  Finally, however, I got the door open a little and wormed my way through.  It was not entirely dark out there, in spite of the storm.  A faint reflection of the street lights made it possible to distinguish the outlines of the boxwood plants, swaying in the wind, and the chimneys and the tent.  And then—­a dark figure disentangled itself from the nearest chimney and seemed to hurl itself at me.  I remember putting out my hands and trying to say something, but the figure caught me roughly by the shoulders and knocked me back against the door frame.  From miles away a heavy voice was saying, “So I’ve got you!” and then the roof gave from under me, and I was floating out on the storm, and sleet was beating in my face, and the wind was whispering over and over, “Open your eyes, for God’s sake!”

I did open them after a while, and finally I made out that I was laying on the floor in the tent.  The lights were on, and I had a cold and damp feeling, and something wet was trickling down my neck.

I seemed to be alone, but in a second somebody came into the tent, and I saw it was Mr. Harbison, and that he had a double handful of half-melted snow.  He looked frantic and determined, and only my sitting up quickly prevented my getting another snow bath.  My neck felt queer and stiff, and I was very dizzy.  When he saw that I was conscious he dropped the snow and stood looking down at me.

“Do you know,” he said grimly, “that I very nearly choked you to death a little while ago?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me to be told so,” I said.  “Do I know too much, or what is it, Mr. Harbison?” I felt terribly ill, but I would not let him see it.  “It is queer, isn’t it—­how we always select the roof for our little—­differences?” He seemed to relax somewhat at my gibe.

“I didn’t know it was you,” he explained shortly.  “I was waiting for—­some one, and in the hat you wore and the coat, I mistook you.  That’s all.  Can you stand?”

“No,” I retorted.  I could, but his summary manner displeased me.  The sequel, however, was rather amazing, for he stooped suddenly and picked me up, and the next instant we were out in the storm together.  At the door he stooped and felt for the knob.