sea, they
contrived a way to crown it, and to glide like a flake along. Through
the sparkle of the whiteness, and the wreaths of windy tossings, and
the ups and downs of cold, any man might get along with a boat on either
foot, to prevent his sinking.

She told me how these boats were made; very strong and very light,
of ribs with skin across them; five feet long, and one foot wide; and
turned up at each end, even as a canoe is. But she did not tell me, nor
did I give it a moment's thought myself, how hard it was to walk upon
them without early practice. Then she told me another thing equally
useful to me; although I would not let her see how much I thought about
it. And this concerned the use of sledges, and their power of gliding,
and the lightness of their following; all of which I could see at once,
through knowledge of our own farm-sleds; which we employ in lieu of
wheels, used in flatter districts. When I had heard all this from her, a
mere chit of a girl as she was, unfit to make a snowball even, or to fry
snow pancakes, I looked down on her with amazement, and began to wish a
little that I had given more time to books.

But God shapes all our fitness, and gives each man his meaning, even as
he guides the wavering lines of snow descending. Our Eliza was meant for
books; our dear Annie for loving and cooking; I, John Ridd, for sheep,
and wrestling, and the thought of Lorna; and mother to love all three
of us, and to make the best of her children. And now, if I must tell
the truth, as at every page I try to do (though God knows it is hard
enough), I had felt through all this weather, though my life was
Lorna's, something of a satisfaction in so doing duty to my kindest and
best of mothers, and to none but her. For (if you come to think of it)
a man's young love is very pleasant, very sweet, and tickling; and takes
him through the core of heart; without his knowing how or why. Then he
dwells upon it sideways, without people looking, and builds up all sorts
of fancies, growing hot with working so at his own imaginings. So his
love is a crystal Goddess, set upon an obelisk; and whoever will not bow
the knee (yet without glancing at her), the lover makes it a sacred rite
either to kick or to stick him. I am not speaking of me and Lorna, but
of common people.

Then (if you come to think again) lo!--or I will not say lo! for no one
can behold it--only feel, or but remember, what a real mother is. Ever
loving, ever sof