Our wheels crunched through the deep snow for a few moments, and soon I saw a ruddy light shining from the window of a dwelling, and then Mr. Jones shouted, “Whoa!  ’Light down, neighbors; you’re at your own door.”

There was a chorus of delighted cries.  Merton half tumbled over me in his eagerness to get down.  A door opened, and out poured a cheerful glow.  Oh the delicious sense of safety and warmth given by it already!

I seized Mousie, floundered through the snow up to my knees, and placed her in a big rocking-chair.  Mr. Jones followed with Winnie, and Merton came in with Bobsey on his back.  The little fellow was under such headway in crying that he couldn’t stop at once, although his tears were rapidly giving place to laughter.  I rushed back and carried in my wife, and then said, in a voice a little unsteady from deep feeling, “Welcome home, one and all.”

Never did the word mean more to a half-frozen and badly frightened family.  At first safety, warmth, and comfort were the uppermost in our thoughts, but as wraps were taken off, and my wife and children thawed out, eager-eyed curiosity began to make explorations.  Taking Mousie on my lap, and chafing her hands, I answered questions and enjoyed to the full the exclamations of pleasure.

Mr. Jones lingered for a few moments, then gave one of his big guffaws by way of preface, and said:  “Well, you do look as if you was at home and meant to stay.  This ’ere scene kinder makes me homesick; so I’ll say good-night, and I’ll be over in the mornin’.  There’s some lunch on the table that my wife fixed up for you.  I must go, for I hear John junior hollerin’ for me.”

His only response to our profuse thanks was another laugh, which the wind swept away.

“Who is John junior?” asked Merton.

“Mr. Jones’s son, a boy of about your age.  He was here waiting for us, and keeping the fire up.  When we arrived he came out and took the horses, and so you didn’t see him.  He’ll make a good playmate for you.  To use his father’s own words, ’He’s a fairish boy as boys go,’ and that from John Jones means that he’s a good fellow.”

Oh, what a happy group we were, as we gathered around the great, open fire, on which I piled more wood!

“Do you wish to go and look around a little?” I asked my wife.

“No,” she replied, leaning back in her rocking-chair:  “let me take this in first.  O Robert, I have such a sense of rest, quiet, comfort, and hominess that I just want to sit still and enjoy it all.  The howling of the storm only makes this place seem more like a refuge, and I’d rather hear it than the Daggetts tramping overhead and the Ricketts children crying down-stairs.  Oh, isn’t it nice to be by ourselves in this quaint old room?  Turn the lamp down, Robert, so we can see the firelight flicker over everything.  Isn’t it splendid?—­just like a picture in a book.”