tanding collar, wearing a cast-off coat given him by his master, his
round-bowed spectacles on the tip of his nose, entered the room,
bowing very low. He took his stand in one corner and tuned his violin.
The chairs and light-stand were removed to the hall.

"De ladies and genmen will please choose pardners for de minuet," said
Brutus.

The choosing had been already done; the partners were as they had
been. After the minuet came the reel and quickstep, danced with grace
and due decorum.

The hour quickly flew. The horses had finished their provender and
were rested. Once more they were on the road, not riding directly
homeward, but turning into cross-roads to Jamaica Pond, where the boys
were gliding over the gleaming ice on their skates. They had kindled
fires which lighted up the surrounding objects, the dark foliage of
pines and hemlocks, and the branches of the leafless elms and maples
growing on the banks of the pond.

The full moon was shining in their faces as they rode homeward. The
evening air was crisp, but the hot supper and the merry dance had
warmed their blood. The jingling of the sleigh-bells and their joyous
laughter made the air resonant with music.

At times the horses lagged to a walk, and Robert could let the reins
lie loose and turn his face toward Miss Newville. Her eyes at times
looked up to his. He could feel her arm against his own. The violet
hood leaned towards him as if to find a resting-place. To Robert
Walden and to Ruth Newville alike never had there been such a night,
so full of beauty, so delightful.

The horses came to a standstill at last by the entrance to the
Newville mansion.

"This has been the most enjoyable day of my life," Miss Newville said,
as Robert gave her his hand to assist her from the pung.

"Good-night, all. Thank you, Mr. Walden, for all your kindness," her
parting words.

VIII.

CHRISTOPHER SNIDER.

The night-watchman of the North End of Boston, with overcoat buttoned
to the chin and a muffler around his neck, a fur cap drawn down over
his ears to exclude the biting frost of midwinter, was going his
rounds. He saw no revelers in the streets, nor belated visitors
returning to their homes.

If suitors were calling upon their ladies, the visits were ended long
before the clock on the Old Brick struck the midnight hour. No voice
broke the stillness of the night. The watchman scarcely heard his own
footsteps in the newly fallen snow as he slowly ma