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!”

* * * * *

LIGHT LITERATURE.

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