The travelers were soon enwrapped in a swirling mantle of snow. Slowly and carefully the dug-ways had to be traversed. The sky was dense and black. The storm became a blizzard, and the cold became intense. The men wrapped themselves in additional blankets. The horses went patiently on, the driver peering anxiously ahead; but it must have been well after noon before the outlines of a large building near at hand bulked out of the leaden sky.

"I'm glad we're here," exclaimed the driver.

"Where?" asked Dorian.

"At Hickson's."

They drove into the yard and under a shed where the horses were unhitched and taken into a stable. A light as if from a wood fire in a grate danced upon the white curtain of the unshaded windows. With his mail-bag, the driver shuffled his way through the snow to the kitchen door and knocked. The door opened immediately and Mrs. Hickson, recognizing the mail-driver, bade him come in. Two children peered curiously from the doorway of another room. Dorian a little nervously awaited the possibility of Carlia's appearing.

It was pleasant to get shelter and a warm welcome in such weather. After the travelers had warmed themselves by the kitchen stove, they were invited into another room to meet Mr. Hickson, who was reclining in a big arm chair before the grate. He welcomed them without rising, but pointed them to chairs by the fire. They talked of the weather, of course. Mr. Hickson reasoned that it was foolish to complain about something which they could not possible control. Dorian was introduced as a traveler, no explanation being asked or given as to his business.

He was welcome. In fact, it was a pleasure, said the host, to have company even for an evening, as very few people ever stopped over night, especially in the winter. Dorian soon discovered that this man was not a rough mountaineer, but a man of culture, trying to prolong his earth-life by the aid of mountain air, laden with the aroma of the pines. The wife went freely in and out of the room, the children also; but somewhat to Dorian's surprise, no Carlia appeared. If she were there in the house, she surely would be helping with the meal which seemed to be in the way of preparation.

The storm continued all afternoon. There could be no thought of moving on that day. And indeed, it was pleasant sitting thus by the blazing log in the fireplace and listening, for the most part, to the intelligent talk of the host. The evening meal was served early, and the two guests ate with the family in the dining room. Still no Carlia.

When the driver went out to feed his horses and to smoke his pipe, and Mr. Hickson had retired, the children, having overcome some of their timidity, turned their attention to Dorian. The girl, the oldest, with dark hair and rosy cheeks, reminded him of another girl just then in his thoughts. The two small boys were chubby and light haired, after the mother. When Dorian managed to get the children close to him, they reminded him that Christmas was only one day distant. Did he live near by? Was he going home for Christmas? What was Santa Claus going to bring him?

Dorian warmed to their sociability and their clatter. He learned from them that their Christmas this year would likely be somewhat of a failure. Daddy was sick. There was no Christmas tree, and they doubted Santa Claus' ability to find his way up in the mountains in the storm.

This was the first winter they had been here. Always they had been in town during the holidays, where it was easy for Santa to reach them; but now--the little girl plainly choked back the tears of disappointment.

"Why, if it's a Christmas tree you want," said Dorian, "that ought to be easy. There are plenty up on the nearby hills."

"Yes; but neither papa nor mama nor we can get them."

"But I can."

"Oh, will you? Tomorrow?"

"Yes; tomorrow is Christmas Eve. We'll have to have it then."

The children were dancing with glee as the mother came in and learned what had been going on. "You mustn't bother the gentleman," she admonished, but Dorian pleaded for the pleasure of doing something for them. The mother explained that because of unforeseen difficulties the children were doomed to disappointment this holiday season, and they would have to be satisfied with what scanty preparation could be made.

"I think I can help," suggested the young man, patting the littlest confiding fellow on the head. "We cannot go on until tomorrow, I understand, and I should very much like to be useful."

The big pleading eyes of the children won the day. They moved into the kitchen. All the corners were ransacked for colored paper and cloth, and with scissors and flour paste, many fantastic decorations were made to hang on the tree. Corn was popped and strung into long white chains. But what was to be done for candles? Could Dorian make candles? He could do most everything, couldn't he? He would try. Had they some parafine, used to seal preserve jars. Oh, yes, large pieces were found. And this with some string was soon made into some very possible candles. The children were intensely interested, and even the mail-driver wondered at the young man's cleverness. They had never seen anything like this before.

The tree and its tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs had always been bought ready for their use.

Now they learned, which their parents should have known long ago, that there is greater joy in the making of a plaything than in the possession of it.

The question of candy seemed to bother them all. Their last hopes went when there was not a box of candy in the postman's bag. What should they do for candy and nuts and oranges and--

"Can you make candy?" asked the girl of Dorian as if she was aware she was asking the miraculous.

"Now children," warned the happy mother. "You have your hands full" she said to Dorian. "There's no limit to their demands."

Dorian a.s.sured her that the greater pleasure was his.

"Tomorrow," he told the clammering children, "we'll see what we can do about the candy."

"Chocolates?" asked one.

"Caramels," chose another.

"Fudge," suggested the third.

"All these?" laughed Dorian. "Well, we'll see-tomorrow," and with that the children went to bed tremulously happy.

The next morning the sun arose on a most beautiful scene. The snow lay deep on mountain and in valley. It ridged the fences and trees. Paths and roads were obliterated.

The children were awake early. As Dorian dressed, he heard them scampering down the stairs. Evidently, they were ready for him. He looked out of the window. He would have to make good about that tree.

As yet, Dorian had found no traces of the object of his search. He had not asked direct questions about her, but he would have to before he left. There seemed some mystery always just before him. The mail-driver would not be ready to go before noon, so Dorian would have time to get the tree and help the children decorate it. Then he would have to find out all there was to know about Carlia. Surely, she was somewhere in the locality.

After breakfast, Dorian found the axe in the wood-shed, and began to make his way through the deep snow up the hill toward a small grove of pine. Behind the shoulder of a hill, he discovered another house, not so large as Mr. Hickson's, but neat and comfortably looking. The blue smoke of a wood fire was rising from the chimney. A girl was vigorously shoveling a path from the house to the wood-pile. She was dressed in big boots, a sweater, and a red hood. She did not see Dorian until he came near the small clearing by the house. Straightening from her work, she stood for a moment looking intently at him. Then with a low, yet startled cry, she let the shovel fall, and sped swiftly back along the newly-made path and into the house.

It was Carlia.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

Dorian stood knee-deep in the snow and watched the girl run back into the house. In his surprise, he forgot his immediate errand. He had found Carlia, found her well and strong; but why had she run from him with a cry of alarm? She surely had recognized him; she would not have acted thus toward a stranger. Apparently, she was not glad to see him. He stood looking at the closed door, and a feeling of resentment came to him. Here he had been searching for her all this time, only to be treated as if he were an unwelcome intruder. Well, he would not force himself on her. If she did not want to see him, why annoy her? He could go back, tell her father where she was, and let him come for her. He stood, hesitating.

The door opened again and a woman looked out inquiringly at the young man standing in the snow with an axe on his shoulder. Dorian would have to offer a word of explanation to the woman, at least, so he stepped into the path toward the house.

"Good morning," he said, lifting his hat. "I'm out to get a Christmas tree for the children over there, and it seems I have startled the young lady who just ran in."

"Yes," said the woman.

"I'm sorry to have frightened her, but I'm glad to have found her. You see, I've been searching for her."

The woman stood in the doorway, saying nothing, but looking with some suspicion at the young man.

"I should like to see her again," continued Dorian. "Tell her it's Dorian Trent."

"I'll tell her," said the woman as she withdrew and closed the door.

The wait seemed long, but it was only a few minutes when the door opened and Dorian was invited to come in. They pa.s.sed through the kitchen into the living room where a fire was burning in a grate. Dorian was given a chair. He could not fail to see that he was closely observed. The woman went into another room, but soon returned.

"She'll be in shortly," she announced.

"Thank you."

The woman retired to the kitchen, and presently Carlia came in. She had taken off her wraps and now appeared in a neat house dress. As she stood hesitatingly by the door. Dorian came with outstretched hands to greet her; but she was not eager to meet him, so he went back to his chair.

Both were silent. He saw it was the same Carlia, with something added, something which must have taken much experience if not much time to bring to her. The old-time roses, somewhat modified, were in her cheeks, the old-time red tinted the full lips; but she was more mature, less of a girl and more of a woman; and to Dorian she was more beautiful than ever.

"Carlia," he again ventured, "I'm glad to see you; but you don't seem very pleased with your neighbor. Why did you run from me out there?"