Since then Billy had always been trying--in a way--to give ice cream to some one who wanted it.
Arkwright was almost at the door when he turned abruptly.

His face was an abashed red.

From his pocket he had taken a small folded paper.
"Do you suppose--in this--you might find--that melody ?" he stammered in a low voice.

The next moment he was gone, having left in Billy's fingers a paper upon which was written in a clear-cut, masculine hand six four-line stanzas.
Billy read them at once, hurriedly, then more carefully.
"Why, they're beautiful," she breathed, "just beautiful! Where did he get them, I wonder?
It's a love song--and such a pretty one! I believe there _is_ a melody in it," she exulted, pausing to hum a line or two.

"There is--I know there is; and I'll write it--for Bertram," she finished, crossing joyously to the piano.
Half-way down Corey Hill at that moment, Arkwright was buffeting the wind and snow.