In after years he would recall the beauty of the laughing young face in its setting of dark gold and sunlit silver snow.
"Oh, my!" she cried.

"That Billy! Don't stand there, John; pull me out, I'm stuck." He gave her a hand and she bounded forth out of the drift, shaking off the dry snow as a wet dog shakes off water.

"What's the matter, John ?" He was trying to empty neck, pocket and shoes of snow, and was past the limits of what small endurance he had been taught.

"I shall catch my death of cold.

It's down my back--it's everywhere, and I--shall get--laryngitis." The brave blue eyes of the girl stared at his dejected figure.