“People who write tosh like that generally write it in a warm house on some smug city street.”

“You are too hard on John Foster,” said Valancy severely. “No one could have written that little paragraph I read you last night without having seen it first — you know he couldn’t.”

“I didn’t listen to it,” said Barney morosely. “You know I told you I wouldn’t.”

“Then you’ve got to listen to it now,” persisted Valancy. She made him stand still on his snowshoes while she repeated it.

“‘She is a rare artist, this old Mother Nature, who works “for the joy of working” and not in any spirit of vain show.