The new-comer, a messenger from the nearest village, became voluble as soon as he was within speaking distance.  He addressed Madge in broken English, but so quickly and with so strong a French accent that Courthope only gathered part of his errand.  He had come, it seemed, from the stepmother to tell something concerning a certain Xavier, who had been sent to them the evening before.  Before he had finished calling, Madge and Morin had come to the place where the thief lay, and, looking down upon him, Madge gave a little cry.

The new-comer came up.  He looked as if he might be of the grade of a notary’s clerk or a country chemist.  He did not seem surprised to see who the man was.  He began at once with great activity to chafe his hands and face with handfuls of the snow.  Madge and Morin were also active with the restoratives.  The thief was lifted and laid upon the toboggan.  They trod the snow all about to know that nothing remained, and found only a corkless flask containing a few drops of rum.  They were all so busy that Courthope had little to do; he stood aside, wondering above all at the way they rubbed the man with the snow, and at the astonishment that Madge expressed.  The stranger was very nimble and very talkative; pouring out words now in French to Madge, he walked with her in all haste to the shed from which the horse again whinnied.  Morin, awakening to a sense of urgency, started at a trot, dragging the toboggan behind him; it sank heavily in snow so light.  Courthope lent a hand to the loop of rope by which it was drawn.  He too essayed the trot of the Canadian.  He was growing proficient, and if he did not succeed in keeping up the running pace, he managed to go more quickly than before.  They made fair progress.  Looking back, Courthope saw Madge and the stranger emerge upon the road with the little horse.  He had not time to look back often to see how they helped it to make its way.  They were still some distance behind when he and Morin reached the house.

The man called Xavier was carried into the kitchen amid wild exclamations from the Morin women.  As they all continued the work of restoring him with a hearty goodwill and an experience of which Courthope could not boast, he was glad to betake himself to his own room, wondering whether he was now a thief or a gentleman in the eyes of this small snow-bound world.  There was, in any case, no one at leisure to prohibit him from making free with his own possessions.

When he was dressed a certain shyness prohibited him from entering the dining-room in which he heard Madge, Eliz, and the stranger talking French together.  He betook himself to the library, to the Letters of the Portuguese Nun and an easy-chair.  They might oust him with severity, but it was as well to enjoy a short interval of luxury.  The room was warmed with a stove; the book was in the old-fashioned type; an almost sleepless night was behind him; soon he slept.