I had long been pondering in my mind, in my walks by day and my lyings-down at night, what should be the next step, what overt act I might commit; for something told me it was not yet time to say anything.

What could have been more fortunate for my wishes, then, than the project set on foot by the young people, of a grand sleighing-party on New-Year’s evening?  They were mostly younger than myself, especially the girls.  Eleanor was but seventeen, I was twenty-three.  But I determined to join this party, and it was to invite Eleanor that I arrayed myself and set forth, as above mentioned.  It was a bold step for a bashful man,—­I mean now the inviting part.

I had thought over, coming along, just what words I should use; but, as I mounted the bank, I felt the words, ideas, and all, slipping out at the ends of my fingers.  If it had been a thickly settled place, I should not have thought much about being watched; but, as there was only one house in sight, I was sure that not a motion was lost, that my proceedings would be duly reported, and discussed by the whole village.  All these considerations rendered my situation upon the stone step at the front-door very peculiar.

I knew the family were in the back part of the house; for the shutters of the front-room were tightly closed, as, indeed, they always were, except on grand occasions.  Nevertheless, knocking at the front-door seemed the right thing to do, and I did it.  With a terrible choking in my throat, and wondering all the while who would come to open, I did it.  I knocked three times.  Nobody came.  Peddlers, I had observed in like cases, opened the outside door and knocked at the inner.  I tried this with no better result.  I then ventured to open the inner door softly, and with feelings of awe I stood alone in the spare-room.

By the light which streamed in through the holes in the tops of the shutters I distinguished the green painted chairs backed up stiffly against the wall, the striped homespun carpet, andirons crossed in the fireplace, with shovel and tongs to match, the big Bible on the table under the glass, a waxwork on the high mahogany desk in the corner, and a few shells and other ornaments upon the mantelshelf.

The terrible order and gloom oppressed me.  I felt that it was no slight thing to venture thus unbidden into the spare-room,—­the room set apart from common uses, and opened only on great occasions:  evening-meetings, weddings, or funerals.  But, in the midst of all my tribulation, one other thought would come,—­I don’t exactly like to tell it, but then I believe I promised to keep nothing back;—­well, then, if I must,—­I thought that this spare-room was the place where Eleanor would make up the fire, when—­when I was far enough along to come regularly every Sunday night.  With that thought my courage revived.  I heard voices in the next room, the pounding of a flat-iron, and a frequent step across the floor.  I gave a loud rap.  The door opened, and Eleanor herself appeared.  She had on a spotted calico gown, with a string of gold beads around her neck.  She held in her hand a piece of fan coral.  I felt myself turning all colors, stammered, hesitated, and believed in my heart that she would think me a fool.  Very likely she did; for I really suppose that she never, till then, thought that I meant anything.