The night outside was
very cold, the wind blowing stormily in great gusts which now and then
howled down the chimney, making the warmth and cheer within all the more
appealing.
Suddenly Ellen, hunting vainly for the page she sought, lifted her head,
to see her husband lift his at the same instant.
"Music?" she questioned. "Where can it come from? Not outside on such a
night as this?"
"Did you hear it, too? I've been thinking it my imagination."
"It must be the wind, but--no, it _is_ music!"
She rose and went to the window, pushing aside draperies and setting her
face to the frosty pane. The next instant she called in a startled way:
"Oh, Red--come here!"
He came slowly, but the moment he caught sight of the figure in the
storm outside his langour vanished.
"Good heavens! The poor beggar! We must have him in."
He ran to the hall and the outer door, and Ellen heard his shout above
the howling of the wind.
"Come in--come in!"
She reached the door into the hall as the slender young figure stumbled
up the steps, a violin clutched tight in fingers purple with cold. She
saw the stiff lips break into a frozen smile as her husband laid his
hand upon the thinly clad shoulder and drew the youth where he could
close the door.
"Why didn't you come to the door and ring, instead of fiddling out there
in the cold!" demanded Burns. "Do you think we're heathen, to shut
anybody out on a night like this?"
The boy shook his head.
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