"This," said John to himself, "is what he meant when 'he supposed it wouldn't take me long to find out what was in my stocking.'" * * * * * The door opened and a blast and whirl of wind and snow rushed in, ushering the tall, bent form of the Widow Cullom.

The drive of the wind was so strong that John vaulted over the low cash counter to push the door shut again.

The poor woman was white with snow from the front of her old worsted hood to the bottom of her ragged skirt.
"You are Mrs.Cullom ?" said John.

"Wait a moment till I brush off the snow, and then come to the fire in the back room.

Mr.Harum will be in directly, I expect." "Be I much late ?" she asked.