She put out her hand. He took it, and they skated
on together,—hearts beating to the rhythm
of their movements. The uproar and merriment of
the village came only faintly to them. It seemed
as if all Nature was hushed to listen to their plighted
troth, their words of love renewed, more earnest for
long suppression. The beautiful ice spread before
them, like their life to come, a pathway untouched
by any sorrowful or weary footstep. The blue
sky was cloudless. The keen air stirred the pulses
like the vapor of frozen wine. The benignant
mountains westward kindly surveyed the happy pair,
and the sun seemed created to warm and cheer them.
“And you forgive me, Belle?” said the
lover. “I feel as if I had only gone bad
to make me know how much better going right is.”
“I always knew you would find it out. I
never stopped hoping and praying for it.”
“That must have been what brought Mr. Wade here.”
“Oh, I did hate him so, Bill, when I heard of
something that happened between you and him!
I thought him a brute and a tyrant. I never could
get over it, until he told mother that you were the
best machinist he ever knew, and would some time grow
to be a great inventor.”
“I’m glad you hated him. I suffered
rattlesnakes and collapsed flues for fear you’d
go and love him.”
“My affections were engaged,” she said,
with simple seriousness.
“Oh, if I’d only thought so long ago!
How lovely you are!” exclaims Bill, in an ecstasy.
“And how refined! And how good! God
bless you!”
He made up such a wishful mouth,—so wishful
for one of the pleasurable duties of mouths, that
Belle blushed, laughed, and looked down, and as she
did so saw that one of her straps was trailing.
“Please fix it, Bill,” she said, stopping
and kneeling.
Bill also knelt, and his wishful mouth immediately
took its chance.
A manly smack and sweet little feminine chirp sounded
as their lips met.
Boom! twanging gay as the first tap of a marriage-bell,
a loud crack in the ice rang musically for leagues
up and down the river. “Bravo!” it
seemed to say. “Well done, Bill Tarbox!
Try again!” Which the happy fellow did, and
the happy maiden permitted.
“Now,” said Bill, “let us go and
hug Mr. Wade!”
“What! Both of us?” Belle protested.
“Mr. Tarbox, I am ashamed of you!”
* * * *
*
Though the smallest boulder is heavy, and even the
merest pebble has a perceptible weight, yet the entire
planet, toward which both gravitate, floats more lightly
than any feather. In literature somewhat analogous
may be observed. Here also are found the insignificant
lightness of the pebble and the mighty lightness of
the planet; while between them range the weighty masses,
superior to the petty ponderability of the one, and
