hind the stove in the kitchen. They were not absurd. No! All her pitiful defenses against the weather, discovered beneath the green coat, were not amusing to him. They were added evidence of her fighting spirit. He wanted to tell her so, but instead he remained in the kitchen and busily kindled a fire in the small stove. Good heavens, you wouldn't think a little soft thing like that was made of such stuff!
For two days and nights, Bord Mathewson and Edna Miller were imprisoned on the mountainside. All through the second day, an impenetrable white fury—shrieking wind, sweeping snow—raged round the secure little mountain cottage, holding in its grip not only Bord Mathewson and Edna Miller but, on the other side of the mountain in a small hotel, the other members of the Bartlett party.
For two days and nights, Bord Mathewson, who had never spent more than an hour at a time alone with a girl before in his life, found himself in the constant company of one, and one for whom, in spite of himself, a consuming sort of tenderness would possess him every third or fourth hour or so, in disturbing fashion, unexpectedly—when he was preparing her food or cutting fresh firewood in the shed with the light of her beckoning fire making the window-panes
