believe what we believe?" – Matilda's voice sunk.
"What we believe?" repeated Norton.
"Part of it, I suppose. They are not like Hindoos or Chinese. But you had better not talk to them just as you talked to Mr. Richmond to-night."
"But, Norton – I must live so."
"Live how you like; they have got nothing to do with your living. Now, Pink, I think we'll overhaul those chestnuts, – if you've no objection."
It was very exciting, getting the roasted fruit out from among the ashes and coals, burning their fingers, counting the chestnuts, and eating them; and then Norton prepared a second batch, that they might, as he said, have some to give to Mr. Richmond. Eating and cooking, a great deal of talk went on all the while. Eight o'clock came, and nine; and still not Mr. Richmond. Norton went out to look at the weather, as far as the piazza steps; and came in powdered with snow. It was thickly falling, he said; so the two children went to work again. It was impossible to sit there with the chestnuts and not eat them; so Norton roasted a third quantity. Just as these were reclaimed from the ashes, Mr. Richmond came in. He looked tired.
"So you have kept my hearth warm for me," he said; "and provided me supper. Thank you."
"We have done no harm, sir, I hope," said Norton; "though it was in your study."
"My study was the very place," said Mr. Richmond. "You cannot get such a fire everywhere; and my fire does not often have such pleasant use made of it. I shall miss you both."
"How soon shall we be ordered away, sir?" Norton asked.
"Your mother said to-morrow; but at the rate the snow is falling, that will hardly be. It looks like a great storm, or feels like it rather. It's impossible to see."
A great storm it proved the next morning. The snow was falling very thick; it lay heaped on the branches of the pines, and drifted into a great bank at the corner of the piazza, and blocked up the window-sills. It was piled up high on the house steps, and had quite covered all signs of path and roadway; the little sweep in front of the house was levelled and hid; the track to the barn could not be traced any longer. And still the snow came down, in gentle, swift, stayless supply; fast piling up fresh beautiful feathers of crystal on those that already settled soft upon all the earth. So Matilda found things when she got up in the morning. The air was dark with the snow-clouds, and yet light with a beautiful light from the universal whiteness; and the air was sweet with the pure sweetness of the falling snow. Matilda hurried down. It was Sunday morning.
"There'll be no getting away to-day," said Norton, as together they set the breakfast in readiness.
"Miss Redwood can't come home either," said Matilda. She was privately glad. A snowy Sunday at the parsonage, one more Sunday, would be pleasant.
"You can't get to church either," Norton went on.
"Why Norton! This little bit of way? It isn't but half a dozen steps."
"It is several half dozen," said Norton; "and the snow is all of a foot deep, and in places it has drifted, and there isn't a sign of anybody coming to clear it away yet. I don't believe there'll be twenty people in church, anyhow. It's falling as thick as it can."
"Mr. Ulshoeffer will clear it away in front of the church," said Matilda. "Some people will come. There! there's somebody at our back steps now."
Norton opened the kitchen door to see if it was true; and to his great astonishment found Mr. Richmond, in company with a large wooden shovel, clearing the snow from the steps and kitchen area.
"Good morning!" said the minister, from out of the snow.
"Good morning, sir. Mr. Richmond! isn't there somebody coming to do that for you, sir?"
"I don't know who is to come," said the minister pleasantly. "You had better shut the door and keep warm."
"Tell him breakfast is ready, Norton," Matilda cried.
"Well!" said Norton, shutting the door and coming in. "Do you mean to say that Mr. Richmond shovels his own snow?"
"His own snow!" repeated Matilda, with a little burst of laughter. "Which part of the snow is Mr. Richmond's?"
"What lies on his own ground, I should say. Why don't he have some one come to do it?"
"I don't know," said Matilda; and she looked grave now. "I don't know who there is to come to do it."
"There are people enough to do anything for money," said Norton. "Don't he have somebody come to do it?"
"I don't know," said Matilda. "If he had, I do not think he would do it himself."
"Then he gets very shabby treatment," said Norton; "that's all. I tell you, shovelling snow is work; and cold work at that."
"I suppose the people can't give great pay to their minister," said Matilda.
"Then they can come and clear away the snow for him. They have hands enough, if they haven't the cash. I wonder if they let him do it for himself always?"
"I don't know."
"Well, if I was a minister," said Norton, "which I am glad I'm not, I'd have a church where people could give me enough pay to keep my hands out of the snow!"
"Hush!" said Matilda. "Breakfast is ready, and Mr. Richmond is coming in."
The little dining-room was more pleasant than ever that morning. The white brightness that came in through the snowy air seemed to make fire and warmth and breakfast particularly cosy. And there was a hush, and a purity, and a crisp frost in the air, filling that Sunday morning with especial delights. But Mr. Richmond eat his breakfast like a man who had business on hand.
"Norton thinks there will not be many people at church, Mr. Richmond."
"There will be one," said Mr. Richmond. "And that he may get there, I have a good deal of work yet to do."
"More snow, sir?" inquired Norton.
"All the way from here to the church porch."
"Won't somebody come to do it, sir, and save you the trouble?"
"I can't tell," said the minister laughing. "Nobody ever did yet."
Norton said nothing; but Matilda was very much pleased that after breakfast he took a spade and joined Mr. Richmond in his work. Matilda never forgot that day. The snow continued to fall; flickering irregularly through the pine leaves and leaving a goodly portion of its stores gathered on the branches and massing on the tufts of foliage. Elsewhere the fall of the white flakes was steady and thick as the advance of an army of soldiers. No other resemblance between the two things. This was all whiteness and peace and hush and shelter for earth's needs. Matilda stood at the study window and watched it come down; watched the two dark figures working away in the deep snow to clear the path; watched to see the shovelfuls of snow flung right and left with a will, and then to see the workers stop to take breath, and lean upon their shovels and talk. Norton was getting to know Mr. Richmond; Matilda was glad of that. Then Mr. Ulshoeffer rang the old church bell, and she went to make herself ready for church.
The storm continued, and there were few people out, as Norton had said. In the afternoon the Sunday school had a very small number, and the service did not last long. And then Matilda sat in the hush, at the study window, for Mr. Richmond had been
