great kitchen place in which an old man sat near a huge fire, the other admitted to a big, cosy parlour, wherein the firelight was dancing on panelled walls.
"Take off your things and give them to Tibbie," commanded my hostess. "And, Tibbie—tea! At once. Now come in," she went on, leading me into the parlour, "and if you'd like whisky until the tea comes, there it is, on the sideboard. Have some!"
"Thank you, but I've just had a dose," I answered. "I had some in my flask, very fortunately. You are extremely kind to be so hospitable."
"Nonsense!" she laughed. "You couldn't turn a dog out on a night like this. I don't know if my guardian will manage to get home—he and his old pony can do wonders, and they've sometimes got through when the drifts were two or three feet thick. But you're all right—sit down."
She pointed to a big arm-chair near the fire, and I obeyed her and dropped into it—to make a more leisurely inspection of my surroundings, and my hostess. The room was
