It might have stood, in the snow and the silence, for a shell and a symbol of the humanity within, for angels or other strangers to mark with curiosity.

Mr and Mrs Murchison were neither angels nor strangers; they looked at it and saw that the Peterson place was still standing empty, and that old Mr Fisher hadn't finished his new porch before zero weather came to stop him.
The young people were well ahead; Mrs Murchison, on her husband's arm, stepped along with the spring of an impetus undisclosed.
"Is it to be the Doctor tonight ?" asked John Murchison.

"He was so hoarse this morning I wouldn't be surprised to see Finlay in the pulpit.
They're getting only morning services in East Elgin just now, while they're changing the lighting arrangements." "Are they, indeed?
Well, I hope they'll change them and be done with it, for I can't say I'm anxious for too much of their Mr Finlay in Knox Church." "Oh, you like the man well enough for a change, Mother!" John assured her.
"I've nothing to say against his preaching.

It's the fellow himself.

And I hope we won't get him tonight for, the way I feel now, if I see him gawking up the pulpit steps it'll be as much as I can do to keep in my seat, and so I just tell you, John." "You're a little out of patience with him, I see," said Mr Murchison.
"And it would be a good thing if more than me were out of patience with him.