Mrs. Jones came over, and we made her rubicund face beam and grow more round, if possible, as we all praised her boy.  I returned with her, for I felt that I wished to thank Junior again and again.  But he saw me coming, and slipped out at the back door.  Indeed, the brave, bashful boy was shy of us for several days.  When at last my wife got hold of him, and spoke to him in a manner natural to mothers, he pooh-poohed the whole affair.

“I’ve swum in that crick so often that it was nothin’ to me.  I only had to keep cool, and that was easy enough in snow water, and the swift current would keep us both up.  I wish you wouldn’t say anything more about it.  It kinder makes me feel—­I don’t know how—­ all over, you know.”

But Junior soon learned that we had adopted him into our inmost hearts, although he compelled us to show our good-will after his own off-hand fashion.

Sunday was ushered in with another storm, and we spent a long, quiet, restful day, our hearts full of thankfulness that the great sorrow, which might have darkened the beginning of our country life, had been so happily averted.

On Sunday night the wind veered around to the north, and on Monday morning the sky had a clear metallic hue and the ground was frozen hard.  Bobsey had not taken cold, and was his former self, except that he was somewhat chastened in spirit and his bump of caution was larger.  I was resolved that the day should witness a good beginning of our spring work, and told Winnie and Bobsey that they could help me.  Junior, although he yet avoided the house, was ready enough to help Merton with the sap.  Therefore soon after breakfast we all were busy.

Around old country places, especially where there has been some degree of neglect, much litter gathers.  This was true of our new home and its surroundings.  All through the garden were dry, unsightly weeds, about the house was shrubbery that had become tangled masses of unpruned growth, in the orchard the ground was strewn with fallen branches, and I could see dead limbs on many of the trees.

Therefore I said to my two little helpers:  “Here in this open space in the garden we will begin our brush-pile, and we will bring to it all the refuse that we wish to burn.  You see that we can make an immense heap, for the place is so far away from any buildings that, when the wind goes down, we can set the pile on fire in safety, and the ashes will do the garden good.”

During the whole forenoon I pruned the shrubbery, and raked up the rubbish which the children carried by armfuls to our prospective bonfire.  They soon wished to see the blaze, but I told them that the wind was too high, and that I did not propose to apply the match until we had a heap half as big as the house; that it might be several days before we should be ready, for I intended to have a tremendous fire.