Ellen felt both resentment and shame, and also a fierce dawning of partisanship towards Granville Joy.

"Why should my grandmother speak of him so scornfully ?" she asked herself.

"He is a real good boy." That night was very cold, a night full of fierce white glitter of frost and moonlight, and raging with a turbulence of winds.

Ellen lay awake listening to them.

Presently between the whistle of the wind she heard another, a familiar pipe from a boyish throat.