CHAPTER III

NUTTING It was indeed getting cold. And some of that chill seemed to enter the heart of Helen Blythe as she looked across at the old homestead that once had been a home—her home. A rambling old house it was. Small enough and modest enough to start with, various wings had been added to the original structure; and since all of these were one story, the effect was as unique as it was homelike and pleasant. Dreary and forlorn it looked now, with the snow banked high about its porches, the windows staring out, blank and…