might uz well shet up this ball, or go
to work playin' games."

At this proposal a thick gloom had fallen over the assembly; but it
had been dispersed by Serena Moody's cheerful offer to have the small
melodion brought out of the parlour, and to play for dancing as well as
she could. The company agreed that she was a smart girl, and prepared to
accept her performance with enthusiasm. As the dance went on, there were
frequent comments of approval to encourage her in the labour of love.

"Sereny's doin' splendid, ain't she?" said the other girls.

To which the men replied, "You bet! The playin' 's reel nice, and good
'nough fer anybody--outside o' city folks."

But Serena's repertory was weak, though her spirit was willing. There
was an unspoken sentiment among the men that "The Sweet By and By" was
not quite the best tune in the world for a quadrille. A Sunday-school
hymn, no matter how rapidly it was rendered, seemed to fall short of
the necessary vivacity for a polka. Besides, the wheezy little organ
positively refused to go faster than a certain gait. Hose Ransom
expressed the popular opinion of the instrument, after a figure in which
he and his partner had been half a bar ahead of the music from start to
finish, when he said:

"By Jolly! that old maloney may be chock full o' relijun and po'try; but
it ain't got no DANCE into it, no more 'n a saw-mill."

This was the situation of affairs inside of Moody's tavern on New Year's
Eve. But outside of the house the snow lay two feet deep on the level,
and shoulder-high in the drifts. The sky was at last swept clean of
clouds. The shivering stars and the shrunken moon looked infinitely
remote in the black vault of heaven. The frozen lake, on which the ice
was three feet thick and solid as rock, was like a vast, smooth bed,
covered with a white counterpane. The cruel wind still poured out of the
northwest, driving the dry snow along with it like a mist of powdered
diamonds.

Enveloped in this dazzling, pungent atmosphere, half blinded and
bewildered by it, buffeted and yet supported by the onrushing torrent
of air, a man on snow-shoes, with a light pack on his shoulders, emerged
from the shelter of the Three Sisters' Islands, and staggered straight
on, down the lake. He passed the headland of the bay where Moody's
tavern is ensconced, and probably would have drifted on beyond it, to
the marsh at the lower end of the lake, but for the yellow glare of the
ball-room wi