Now to bed with you." Wherry wrung Carl's hand, and after a passionate, incoherent storm of gratitude stumbled blindly from the room.
The old house grew very quiet.

Presently to the crackle of the fire and the wild noise of the wind outside was added the soft and melancholy lilt of a flute.

There was no mockery or impudence in the strain to-night.

It was curiously of a piece with the creaking loneliness of the ancient farmhouse and so soft at times that the clash of the frozen branches against the house engulfed it utterly.
Sombre, swayed by a surge of deep depression, the flutist lay back in his chair by the fire, piping moodily upon the friend he always carried in his pocket.

To-morrow Dick would be off to the girl in Vermont-- The clock struck twelve.