“Aren’t they on sale?” he demanded, stopping.  “Isn’t it money, or liberty, or—­or a title, usually?” I knew he was thinking of Miss Patty again.

“As for the men,” I continued, “I guess you can class the married ones in two classes, providers and non-providers.  They’re all selfish and they haven’t enough virtue to make a fuss about.”

“I’d be a shining light in the non-provider class,” he said, and picking up his old cap he opened the door.  Miss Patty herself was coming up the path.

She was flushed from the cold air and from hurrying, and I don’t know that I ever saw her look prettier.  When she came into the light we could both see that she was dressed for dinner.  Her fur coat was open at the neck, and she had only a lace scarf over her head. (She was a disbeliever in colds, anyhow, and all winter long she slept with the windows open and the steam-heat off!)

“I’m so glad you’re still here, Minnie!” she exclaimed, breathing fast.  “You haven’t taken the dinner out to the shelter-house yet, have you?”

“Not yet,” I replied.  “Tillie hasn’t brought the basket.  The chef’s been fussing about the stuff we’re using in the diet kitchen the last few days, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s shut off all extras.”

But I guess her sister and Mr. Dick could have starved to death just then without her noticing.  She was all excitement, for all she’s mostly so cool.

“I have a note here for my sister,” she said, getting it out of her pocket.  “I know we all impose on you, Minnie, but—­will you take it for me?  I’d go, but I’m in slippers, and, anyhow, I’d need a lantern, and that would be reckless, wouldn’t it?”

“In slippers!” Mr. Pierce interrupted.  “It’s only five degrees above zero!  Of all the foolhardy—!”

Miss Patty did not seem to hear him.  She gave the letter to me and followed me out on the step.

“You’re a saint, Minnie,” she said, leaning over and squeezing my arm, “and because you’re going back and forth in the cold so much, I want you to have this—­to keep.”

She stooped and picked up from the snow beside the steps something soft and furry and threw it around my neck, and the next instant I knew she was giving me her chinchilla set, muff and all.  I was so pleased I cried, and all the way over to the shelter-house I sniveled and danced with joy at the same time.  There’s nothing like chinchilla to tone down red hair.

Well, I took the note out to the shelter-house, and rapped.  Mr. Dick let me in, and it struck me he wasn’t as cheerful as usual.  He reached out and took the muff.

“Oh,” he said, “I thought that was the supper.”

“It’s coming,” I said, looking past him for Mrs. Dicky.  Usually when I went there she was drawing Mr. Dick’s profile on a bit of paper or teaching him how to manicure his nails, but that night she was lying on the cot and she didn’t look up.

“Sleeping?” I asked in a whisper.