clammy flakes of an insular climate which loiter as they fall, and feel damp and clay-like beneath the passer's feet; but rather an attenuated sand or dust, dimming and pervading the day, and heaping itself in drifts which overspread and bury while you watch, yet cannot reckon how it is they grow. And then it is so dry in its exceeding coldness that it will not wet, and springs and crackles merrily under foot.

It was morning--not yet nine o'clock--and the snow shovellers were only beginning here and there to relieve the encumbered footways, and contribute another layer to the solidly-packed thicknesses of snow and ice which winter had been building in the streets, a foot or two above the neighbouring side walks. The snow had ceased to fall, and the laden clouds which had brought it having burst and dissolved themselves, the sky was a clear pale vault, filled with diffused and dazzling brightness.

From a door there issued a young girl, trim and slight. She was dressed in brown--brown close-fitting, warm and shaggy--muffled as to ears and chin in a wisp of "cloud" of the same colour, out of which there peered the daintiest little pink nose and a pair of eyes of merry blue, shining as they looked out from under the edge of her sealskin cap, with the gleeful twinkle of a squirrel's in the snugness of his nest. I would have said they were like fawn's eyes, save that it has a sentimental association which does not accord with Muriel Stanley, now arrived at the age of fifteen--the border land between child and woman--and fancy free. She stood on the doorsteps with a roll of music under her arm, and her hands in the pockets of her jacket. Muff she had none, it is in the way with active people who do their five or six miles on snow-shoes of winter afternoons, and "toboggan" down slopes in the moonlight.

The air was so chill it seemed to catch the breath on emerging from the indoor warmth; but it was so transfused with brightness and dancing sunshine that it sent the blood coursing quicker through the veins, and prickled in the nostrils with an exhilarating joy, like the sting of the air bubbles in effervescing wine.

The doorsteps were as yet unswept, and deep in snow, the shovellers being still a good many doors off, and Muriel stood on the top looking down and around ere she made the knee-deep plunge, when a voice accosted her coming down the street.

"Miss Muriel! yet surely not, at this hour of the morning."

"Yes, it's me, Mr. Gerald," she said, turning round. "What would any one stay indoors for on a jolly morning like this?"

"But you do not go out at this hour of the morning in general?"

"Neither do you; I know that much. We see the business people go past--M. Petitôt and the Ferretings--about half-past eight, but you gentlemen of the Stock Board never by any chance before half-past ten. If I were a man, and lazy, I would be a stockbroker. No going back to the office in the evening!"

"Ha, ha! you are severe this morning. Does that come of being out so early?"

"That? Oh! I have to go for my music lesson this morning; if I am to have one at all. Mr. Selby has fallen on the ice and sprained both his ankle and his wrist. I have a note from him, written with his left hand, asking me to come to his house, as he cannot come to me--written with his left hand, actually; think of the trouble it must have cost him!--so I could not refuse to go."

"Poor old Selby! I did not hear of that. He is my uncle, you know, or at least he is married to my aunt. And Judy--Mrs. Bunce, I mean--is there just now, with Betsey, to show her the gaieties of the city. Nice house to see the gaieties from. They will consist of a musicale at Counter Tenor's, the dry-goods man, and one or two select performances of the Classical Quartette Club. Betsey's mind won't be unsettled by the dissipation, I guess. She won't leave town thoroughly dissatisfied with country life. Then again, what a pretty specimen of musical culture poor Betsey must be for Selby to lead around. I can imagine his being silently thankful for the sprain as an excuse to stay at home. Just come in the nick of time. However, as my mother was saying to me, though somehow it seems to have slipped out of my mind, we must do what we can for Betsey. If she is a rumpty-tumpty little thing, with her hair always lying the wrong way, she can't help it, and Uncle Bunce is not half bad--for a parson. I have it! I shall go in with you now, if you don't mind, find them all at breakfast, like an intimate and affectionate nephew--it will save more valuable time in the afternoon--and offer to take Betsey to the Rink to-day at three or four o'clock--that is, if you will promise to be there. But let me see! Have I time? Ah, yes! Twenty minutes to spare before I am due at Hammerstone's."

"Hammerstone's? Professor Hammerstone's? Is it a breakfast? Do you attend scientific breakfasts?"

"No. But I study the sciences, though perhaps you would not think it. You see we have so much to do with mineral lands, mines, metals, and that sort of thing, that the governor thinks it is worth while for me to try and find out what it all means. Those sharks, the experts, impose on you so abominably if you do not know something of what they are talking about. So I go to Hammerstone for an hour three mornings in the week, if I get up in time; and really it is more interesting than you would suppose. It is settled, then, that you will be on the Rink this afternoon?"

"I scarcely think it. Mr. Considine is coming to drive us out this afternoon."

"Considine! Phew--But gooseberries are not in season at this time of year! He! he!"

"I do not understand. I said we were going for a sleigh ride."

"With Considine? Will it not be rather cold work sitting with your back to the horses while the old chap makes--conversation--to the Miss Stanleys?"

"Aunt Penelope is afraid to venture out these cold days."

"Just what I said about wholesome summer fruit. That old Considine must be a sad bore, running out and in so much to one's house--like a tame cat."

"Mr. Considine is very nice. I like him. He is so good-natured, and he never says a word against people in their absence."

"One for me! But he is a good fellow, and I fancy you are not the only Miss Stanley who thinks so."

"How slippery it is! You turn off here, I think, to go to Professor Hammerstone's, do you not? I hope you will not be late. Thanks for carrying my music; I will take it now."

"But I mean to carry your music all the way, Miss Muriel. As I told you, I am going to look in on my three aunts at breakfast, and ask them for a cup of hot coffee. That will have a good effect on my aunt Judy, who I fear suspects me of being not very steady. She is a great promoter of coffee taverns. Tried to start one at St. Euphrase, I believe, and had to drink all the coffee herself because the habitants would not buy it. She will say I am an improving character if I ask for a cup of coffee."

When Muriel had finished her music lesson and was resuming her gloves and cloud, she found herself caught from behind by a pair of short fat arms in a sort of hug, accompanied by a little scream of enthusiasm.

"Muriel! And were you going away without ever asking to see me?"

Muriel turned in surprise. "Betsey Bunce! But I did not know you were in town till an hour ago. You know you never wrote."

"Wrote! What is there to write about at St. Euphrase?--unless I were to walk up to the farm and ask Bruneau about your cows and chickens. But you knew an hour ago, you say, and yet you were going away without asking