There was a fire on the broad hearth, and that, with the tallow candles on the mantelpiece, made quite an illumination in the room, and enabled the boys, who were mostly on one side of the room, to see the girls, who were on the other, quite plainly.  How sweet and demure the girls looked, to be sure!  Every boy was thinking if his hair was slick, and feeling the full embarrassment of his entrance into fashionable life.  It was queer that these children, who were so free everywhere else, should be so constrained now, and not know what to do with themselves.  The shooting of a spark out upon the carpet was a great relief, and was accompanied by a deal of scrambling to throw it back into the fire, and caused much giggling.  It was only gradually that the formality was at all broken, and the young people got together and found their tongues.

John at length found himself with Cynthia Rudd, to his great delight and considerable embarrassment, for Cynthia, who was older than John, never looked so pretty.  To his surprise he had nothing to say to her.  They had always found plenty to talk about before—­but now nothing that he could think of seemed worth saying at a party.

“It is a pleasant evening,” said John.

“It is quite so,” replied Cynthia.

“Did you come in a cutter?” asked John anxiously.

“No; I walked on the crust, and it was perfectly lovely walking,” said Cynthia, in a burst of confidence.

“Was it slippery?” continued John.

“Not very.”

John hoped it would be slippery—­very—­when he walked home with Cynthia, as he determined to do, but he did not dare to say so, and the conversation ran aground again.  John thought about his dog and his sled and his yoke of steers, but he didn’t see any way to bring them into conversation.  Had she read the “Swiss Family Robinson”?  Only a little ways.  John said it was splendid, and he would lend it to her, for which she thanked him, and said, with such a sweet expression, she should be so glad to have it from him.  That was encouraging.

And then John asked Cynthia if she had seen Sally Hawkes since the husking at their house, when Sally found so many red ears; and didn’t she think she was a real pretty girl.

“Yes, she was right pretty;” and Cynthia guessed that Sally knew it pretty well.  But did John like the color of her eyes?

No; John didn’t like the color of her eyes exactly.

“Her mouth would be well enough if she did n’t laugh so much and show her teeth.”

John said her mouth was her worst feature.

“Oh, no,” said Cynthia warmly; “her mouth is better than her nose.”

John did n’t know but it was better than her nose, and he should like her looks better if her hair was n’t so dreadful black.

But Cynthia, who could afford to be generous now, said she liked black hair, and she wished hers was dark.  Whereupon John protested that he liked light hair—­auburn hair—­of all things.