CHAPTER X

I They locked the door of the Disappointed House one November evening and Dean gave the key to Emily. “Keep it till spring,” he said, looking out over the quiet, cold, grey fields across which a chilly wind was blowing. “We won’t come back here till then.” In the stormy winter that followed, the cross-lots path to the little house was so heaped with drifts that Emily never went near it. But she thought about it often and happily, waiting amid its snows for spring and life and fulfilment. That winter was, on the who…