once overcome.
Perhaps it was because they were in the awful parlor,--that carpeted
room of haircloth furniture, which was so seldom opened. Upon the wall
hung two certificates framed in black,--one certifying that, by the
payment of fifty dollars, Deacon Mayhew was a life member of the
American Tract Society, and the other that, by a like outlay of bread
cast upon the waters, his wife was a life member of the A. B. C. F. M.,
a portion of the alphabet which has an awful significance to all New
England childhood. These certificates are a sort of receipt in full for
charity, and are a constant and consoling reminder to the farmer that he
has discharged his religious duties.

There was a fire on the broad hearth, and that, with the tallow candles
on the mantelpiece, made quite an illumination in the room, and enabled
the boys, who were mostly on one side of the room, to see the girls, who
were on the other, quite plainly. How sweet and demure the girls looked,
to be sure! Every boy was thinking if his hair was slick, and feeling
the full embarrassment of his entrance into fashionable life. It was
queer that these children, who were so free everywhere else, should
be so constrained now, and not know what to do with themselves. The
shooting of a spark out upon the carpet was a great relief, and was
accompanied by a deal of scrambling to throw it back into the fire, and
caused much giggling. It was only gradually that the formality was at
all broken, and the young people got together and found their tongues.

John at length found himself with Cynthia Rudd, to his great delight and
considerable embarrassment, for Cynthia, who was older than John, never
looked so pretty. To his surprise he had nothing to say to her. They had
always found plenty to talk about before--but now nothing that he could
think of seemed worth saying at a party.

"It is a pleasant evening," said John.

"It is quite so," replied Cynthia.

"Did you come in a cutter?" asked John anxiously.

"No; I walked on the crust, and it was perfectly lovely walking," said
Cynthia, in a burst of confidence.

"Was it slippery?" continued John.

"Not very."

John hoped it would be slippery--very--when he walked home with
Cynthia, as he determined to do, but he did not dare to say so, and the
conversation ran aground again. John thought about his dog and his sled
and his yoke of steers, but he didn't see any way to bring them into
conversation. Had she read the