yet however, "I'm awake. What is it?"
"Oh, I'm so glad," she caught her breath with a sob, and instantly was her alert business-like self again, all sentiment laid aside.
"Get up quick and put on this overcoat," she whispered, beginning to unbutton it with hurried fingers. "There's some things to eat in the pockets. Hurry! You ain't got any time to waste. Grandma wakes up awful easy and she might find out I had my door buttoned and get Grandpa roused up. Or somebody might a heard the door creak. It made a turrible noise. Ain't you most froze? Your hands is like ice—" she touched them softly and then drew them both up to her face and blew on them to warm them with her breath. There's some old mittens of mine in the pocket here, they ain't your size, but mebbe you ken git into 'em, and anyhow they're better'n nothin'. Hurry, cause it would be all no use ef Grandpa woke up——"
Allan sprang up suddenly.
"Where is your grandfather?" he asked anxiously, "Does he know you're here?"
"He's abed and asleep this three hours," said the girl holding up the coat and catching one of his hands to put it in the sleeve. "I heard him tell about you bein' out here, and I jest kep' still and let 'em think I was asleep, so Grandma sent me up to bed and I waited till they went upstairs and got quiet, then I slipped down an' got the key and some vittles, and went back and clumb out my window to the cherry tree so's I wouldn't make a noise with the door. You better walk the rails of the fence till you get out the back pasture and up by the sugar maples. Then you could go through the woods and they couldn't track you even ef it did stop snowin' soon and leave any kind of tracks. But I don't guess it'll stop yet awhile. It's awful fine and still like it was goin' on to snow fer hours. Hev you got any money with you? I put three shillin's in the inside coat pocket. It was all I hed. I thought you might need it. Reach up and git that half a ham over your head. You'll need it. Is there anythin' else you want?
While she talked she had hurried him into the coat, buttoning it around him as if he had been a child and she his mother; and the tall fellow stooped and let her fasten him in, tucking the collar around his neck. He shook his head, and softly whispered a hoarse “No” to her question, but it caught in his throat with something like a sob. It was the memory of that sound that had sent the sobs of his young brother Nathan piercing to the soul of her, years later, down beside the pieplant bed.
"Don't you let 'em catch you, Allan," she said anxiously, her hand lingering on his arm, her eyes searching in the dark for his beloved face.
"No, I won't let 'em catch me," he murmured menacingly, "I'll get away all right, but Randa" —he had always called her Randa though no one else in the village ever called her that—"Randa, I want you to know I didn't do it. I didn't kill Enoch Taylor, indeed I didn't. I wasn't even there. I didn't have a thing to do with it."
"O' course you didn't!"said Miranda indignantly, her whole slender body stiffening in the dark. He could feel it as he reached out to put a hand on either of her shoulders.
"Did you 'spose I'd think you could? But ef you told 'em, couldn't you make 'em prove it? Ain't there any way? Do you hev to go away?" Her voice was wistful, pleading, and revealed her heart.
"Nobody would believe me, Randa. You know how folks are here about me."
"I know," she said sorrowfully, her voice trailing almost into tears. "And anyhow" he added, I couldn't because—well Randa—I know who did it and I wouldn't tell!" His voice was deep and earnest. She understood. It was the rules of the game. He had known she would understand. "Oh!" she said in a breath of surrender. "Oh! of course you couldn't tell!" then suddenly rousing—"But you mustn't wait," she added anxiously, "somebody might come by, and you ain't got a minute to lose. You'll take care o' yourself, Allan, won't you?"
“Course,” he answered almost roughly, "course, Randa. And say, Randa, you're just a great little woman to help me out this way. I don't know's I ought to let you. It'll mebbe get you into trouble."
"Don't you worry 'bout me," said Miranda. "They ain't going to know anything about me helpin' you, and ef they did they can't do nothin' to a girl. I'd just like to see 'em tryin' to take it out o' me. Ef they dare I'll tell 'em how everybody has treated you all these years. You ain't had it fair Allan. Now go quick—”
But the boy turned suddenly and took her in his arms, holding her close in his great rough overcoated clasp, and putting his face down to hers as they stood in the deepest shadow of the old smoke-house.
"There wasn't ever anybody but you understood, Randa," he whispered, "and I ain't going to forget what you've done this time——" The boy's lips searched for hers and met them in a shy embarrassed kiss that sought to pay homage of his soul to her. "Good-bye, Randa, I ain't going to forget, and mebbe—mebbe, some day I can come back and get you—that is ef you're still here waiting."
He kissed her again impetuously, and then as if half ashamed of what he had done he left her standing there in the darkness and slipped out through the blackness into the still, thick whiteness of the snow; stepped from the door to the rail fence as she had suggested and rapidly disappeared into the silence of the storm in the direction of the sugar maples. Miranda stood still for several minutes unconscious of the cold, the night, and her loneliness; regardless of the fact that she had taken off a warm overcoat and was without any wrap over her flimsy little school dress. She was not cold now. A fine glow enveloped her in its beautiful arms. Her cheeks were warm with the touch of Allan's face, and her lips glowed with his parting kiss. But most of all his parting words had filled her with joy. He had kissed her and told her he would come back and get her some day if she were still there waiting. What wonder! What Joy!
It was the memory of those words that hovered about her like some bright defending angel when Allan's father came six years later to ask her to marry him, and taught her that fine scorn of him. It was what had kept her in her place waiting all the years,' and what had drawn her to the younger brother, who was like and yet so unlike Allan.
When Miranda realized where she was standing, and that she must finish her work and get back to her room before she was discovered, she raised both hands to her face and laid them gently on her lips, one over the other, crossed, as if she would touch and hold the sacred kiss that had lain there but the moment before. Then she lifted her face slightly and with her eyes open looking up at the dark rafters, and her fingers still laid lightly on her lips, she murmured solemnly:
"Thanks be!" Gravely she came forth to the business of the night. She reached and fastened the padlock, her warm fingers melting the snow that already again lay thick upon it, and made sure the key was safe about her neck and dropped inside her dress against her warm, palpitating breast to keep it from getting wet and telling tales. She struggled back the beam into place, forcing it into its fastening with all her fierce young might until it rested evenly against the door as before. With her hands and feet she smoothed and kicked the snow into levelness in front of the door. She mounted the fence rail for just an instant and glanced off toward the sugar maples, but there was no sign of a dark figure creeping in the blanketed air of the storm, no sound but the steady falling, falling, of the snow, grain by grain, the little, mighty snow In a few minutes all possible marks of the escape would be utterly obliterated. With a sigh of relief Miranda stole quickly back to the cherry tree. She had intended to smooth her tracks in retreat one at a time so that the snow would have less to do, but it was not necessary except just about the door of the smoke-house. The snow was doing it all and well. Ten minutes would cover everything; half an hour would make it one white level plain.
The climbing of the cherry tree was a difficult task with chilled body and numb hands, but she accomplished it swiftly, and crept back over the roof and into her own window. Fortunately the snow was dry and brushed off easily. Her dress was not wet so there was no need to invent an excuse for that. With deep thanksgiving
