“His mother told me he was goin’ into the first grammar-school next year,” said Fanny.

“I pity the teacher,” said Mrs. Zelotes, and then she recoiled, for the boy made another dart from behind a lamp-post, crossed their path, and was off again.

“My land!” gasped Mrs. Zelotes, “you speak to him, Andrew.”  But Andrew laughed.  “Might as well speak to a whirlwind,” said he.  “He ain’t doin’ any harm, mother; it’s only his boyish antics.  For Heaven’s sake, let him enjoy himself while he can, it won’t be long before the grind-mill in there will get hold of him, and then he’ll be sober enough to suit anybody,” and Andrew pointed at Lloyd’s as he spoke.

“Boys can be boys,” said Mrs. Zelotes, severely, “and they can have a good time, but they can behave themselves.”

None of them looking after that flying and whooping figure ahead had the slightest idea of the true situation.  They did not know that the boy was confused by the fires, none the less ardent that they were so innocent, of a first love for Ellen; that, ever since he had seen her little, fair face on her aunt’s shoulder the day when she was found, it had been even closer to his heart than his sled and his jackstones and his ball, and his hope of pudding for dinner.  They did not know that he had toiled at the wood-pile of a Saturday, and run errands after school, to earn money to buy Christmas presents for his mother and Ellen; that he had at that very minute in his purse in the bottom of his pocket the sum of eighty-nine cents, mostly in coppers, since his wage was generally payable in that coin, and his pocket sagged arduously therefrom.  They did not know that he was even then bound upon an errand to the grocery store for a bag of flour to be brought home on his sled, and would thereby swell his exchequer by another cent.  They did not know what dawning chords of love, and knowledge of love, that wild whoop expressed; and the boy dodged and darted and hid, and appeared before them all the way to the busy main street of Rowe; and, after they had entered the great store where the finest Christmas display was held, he stood before the window staring at Ellen vanishing in a brilliant vista, and whooped now and then, regardless of public opinion.

Ellen, when once she was inside the store, forgot everything else.  She clung more tightly to her mother’s hand, as one will cling to any wonted stay of love in the midst of strangeness, even of joy, and she saw everything with eyes which photographed it upon her very soul.  At first she had an impression of a dazzling incoherence of splendor, of a blare as of thousands of musical instruments all sounding different notes of delight, of a weaving pattern of colors, too intricate to master, of a mingled odor of paint and varnish, and pine and hemlock boughs, and then she spelled out the letters of the details.  She looked at those counters set with the miniature paraphernalia of household life which give the first sweet taste of domesticity and housekeeping joys to a little girl.