"You little bundle of--ecstasy--what am I going to do with
you?"
"Love me. And isn't the snow--wonderful?"
"Yes. But everybody doesn't see it that way."
"I am glad that I do. I should hate to see nothing in all this
miracle, but--slush tomorrow--"
"Yet a lot of life is just--slush tomorrow--. I wish you need never
find that out--."
When Jean went into the house, and her father drove on, she found Hilda
waiting up for her.
"Father had to go to the hospital."
"Did you have anything to eat?"
"No."
"I thought I might cook some oysters."
"I am really not hungry." Then feeling that her tone was ungracious,
she tried to make amends. "It was nice of you to think of it--"
"Your father may like them. I'll have them hot for him."
Jean lingered uncertainly. She didn't want the food, but she hated to
leave the field to Hilda. She unfastened her cloak, and sat down.
"How are you going to cook them?"
"Panned--with celery."
"It sounds good--I think I'll stay down, Hilda."
"As you wish."
The Doctor, coming in with his coat powdered with snow, found his
daughter in a big chair in front of the library fire.
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