wintercovered every familiar object, and he thought, in his childish way,that last night's experience had altered his life as the snowdriftshad changed the landscape.
He ate his breakfast and did up the morning chores mechanically. Heseemed to be in a dream, and wondered dully to himself why he did notcry when he felt so bad.
When the work was all done he stood idly looking out of the window. Hewanted to get away from the house where everything he saw made hisheart ache with the suggestion of Robin.
"I believe I'd like to go to church to-day," he said in a listlesstone.
"Yes, I'd go if I were you," assented Mr. Dearborn readily. "Motherand me'll have to stay by the fire to-day, but I've no doubt it'llchirk you up a bit to get outdoors a spell."
He started off, plodding through the deep snow.
"Takes it easier than I thought he would," said Mr. Dearborn. "Well,troubles never set very hard on young shoulders. He'll get over it ina little while."
As Steven emerged from the lane into the big road he saw a sleighcoming towards him, driven by the doctor's son. As it drew nearer asudden thought came to him like an inspiration.
"O Harvey!" he cried, running forward. "Will you take me with you asfar as Simpson's?"
"Why, yes, I guess so," answered the boy good-naturedly.
He was not surprised at the request, knowing that Mrs. Dearborn andMrs. Simpson were sisters, and supposing that Steven had been sent onsome errand.
It was three miles to the Simpson place, but they seemed to havereached it in as many minutes. Harvey turned off towards his own home,while Steven climbed out and hurried along the public road.
"Half-way there!" he said to himself. He was going to town to findMrs. Estel.
He was a long time on the way. A piercing wind began to blow, and ablinding snow-storm beat in his face. He was numb with cold, hungry,and nearly exhausted. But he thought of little Robin fifteen milesaway, crying at the strange faces around him; and for his sake hestumbled bravely on.
He had seen Mrs. Dearborn's daughter several times. She was a kind,good-natured woman, half-way afraid of her husband. As for AradPierson himself, Steven had conceived a strong dislike. He wasquick-tempered and rough, with a loud, coarse way of speaking thatalways startled the sensitive child.
Suppose Robin should refuse to be comforted, and his crying annoyedthem. Could that black-browed, heavy-fisted man be cruel enough towhip such a baby? Steven knew that he would.
The thought spurred him on. It seemed to him that he had been days onthe road when he reached the house at last, and stood shivering on thesteps while he waited for some one to answer his timid ring.
"No, you can't speak to Mrs. Estel," said the pompous colored man whoopened the door, and who evidently thought that he had come on somebeggar's mission. "She never sees any one now, and I'm sure shewouldn't see you."
"Oh, _please_!" cried Steven desperately, as the door was about to beshut in his face. "She told me to come, and I've walked miles throughthe storm, and I'm so cold and tired! Oh, I _can't_ go back withoutseeing her."
His high, piercing voice almost wailed out the words. Had he come sofar only to be disappointed at last?
"What is it, Alec?" he heard some one call gently.
He recognized the voice, and in his desperation darted past the maninto the wide reception hall.
He saw the sweet face of the lady, who came quickly forward, and heardher say, "Why, what is the matter, my child?"
Then, overcome by the sudden change from the cold storm to thetropical warmth of the room, he dropped on the floor, exhausted andunconscious.
It was a long time before Mrs. Estel succeeded in thoroughly revivinghim. Then he lay on a wide divan with his head on her lap, and talkedquietly of his trouble.
He was too worn out to cry, even when he took the soft curls from hispocket to show her. But her own recent loss had made her vision keen,and she saw the depth of suffering in the boy's white face. As shetwisted the curls around her finger and thought of her own fair-hairedlittle one, with the deep snow drifting over its grave, her tears fellfast.
She made a sudden resolution. "You shall come here," she said. "Ithought when my little Dorothy died I could never bear to hear achild's voice again, knowing that hers was still. But such grief isselfish. We will help each other bear ours together. Would you like tocome, dear?"
Steven sat up, trembling in his great excitement.
"O Mrs. Estel!" he cried, "couldn't you take Robin instead? I could behappy anywhere if I only knew he was taken care of. You are sodifferent from the Piersons. I wouldn't feel bad if he was with you,and I could see him every week. He is so pretty and sweet you couldn'thelp loving him!"
She stooped and kissed him. "You dear, unselfish child, you make mewant you more than ever."
Then she hesitated. She could not decide a matter involving so much ina moment's time. Steven, she felt, would be a comfort to her, butRobin could be only a care. Lately she had felt the mere effort ofliving to be a burden, and she did not care to make any exertion forany one else.
All the brightness and purpose seemed to drop out of her life the daythat little Dorothy was taken away. Her husband had tried everythingin his power to arouse her from her hopeless despondency, but sherefused to be comforted.
Steven's trouble had touched the first responsive chord. She lookeddown into his expectant face, feeling that she could not bear todisappoint him, yet unwilling to make a promise that involved personalexertion.
Then she answered slowly, "I wish my husband were here. I cannot giveyou an answer without consulting him. Then, you see the society thatsent you out here probably has some written agreement with thesepeople, and if they do not want to give him up we might find it adifficult matter to get him. Mr. Estel will be home in a few days, andhe will see what can be done."
That morning when Steven had been seized with a sudden impulse to findMrs. Estel he had no definite idea of what she could do to help him.It had never occurred to him for an instant that she would offer totake either of them to live with her. He thought only of thatafternoon on the train, when her sympathy had comforted him so much,and of her words at parting: "If you ever need a friend, dear, or arein trouble of any kind, let me know and I will help you." It was thatpromise that lured him on all that weary way through the coldsnow-storm.
With a child's implicit confidence he turned to her, feeling that insome way or other she would make it all right. It was a greatdisappointment when he found she could do nothing immediately, andthat it might be weeks before he could see Robin again.
Still, after seeing her and pouring out his troubles, he felt like adifferent boy. Such a load seemed lifted from his shoulders. Heactually laughed while repeating some of Robin's queer little speechesto her. Only that morning he had felt that he could not even smileagain.
Dinner cheered him up still more. When the storm had abated, Mrs.Estel wrapped him up and sent him home in her sleigh, telling him thatshe wanted him to spend Thanksgiving Day with her. She thought shewould know by that time whether she could take Robin or not. At anyrate, she wanted him to come, and if he would tell Mr. Dearborn tobring her a turkey on his next market day, she would ask hispermission.
All the way home Steven wondered nervously what the old people wouldsay to him. He dreaded to see the familiar gate, and the ride came toan end so very soon. To his great relief he found that they hadscarcely noticed his absence. Their only son and his family had comeunexpectedly from the next State to stay over Thanksgiving, andeverything else had been forgotten in their great surprise.
The days that followed were full of pleasant anticipations for thefamily. Steven went in and out among them, helping busily with thepreparations, but strangely silent among all the merriment.
Mr. Dearborn took his son to town with him the next market day, andSteven was left at home to wait and wonder what message Mrs. Estelmight send him.
He hung around until after his usual bedtime, on their return, butcould not muster up courage
to ask. The hope that had sprung upwithin him flickered a little fainter each new day, until it almostdied out.
It was a happy group that gathered around the breakfast table early onThanksgiving morning.
"All here but Rindy," said Mr. Dearborn, looking with smiling eyesfrom his wife to his youngest grandchild. "It's too bad she couldn'tcome, but Arad invited all his folks to spend the day there; so shehad to give up and stay at home. Well, we're all alive and well,anyhow. That's my greatest cause for thankfulness. What's yours,Jane?" he asked, nodding towards his wife.
As the question passed around the table, Steven's thoughts went backto the year before, when their little family had all been together. Heremembered how pretty his mother had looked that morning in herdark-blue dress.
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