John's eyes followed him longingly as he skated off. The temptation of Silvey's invitation was great, and with any other maiden, would have proved fatal. But the lure of the rosy dream for the future was still strong. He freed himself gently from her grasp, and was two yards away before she realized what he had done. "There," he said with satisfaction. "I knew you could stand up. Now, skate to me." "Aw-w-w, Johnny, come on back. I'm going to fall!" "No you're not," said John decisively. "Try and you'll see." Louise essayed one ineffectual stroke and stood helpless. "I t-think you're just horrid," she whimpered. He grew a trifle impatient. "You'll never learn that way." Why were girls always so afraid to try things, anyway? She made another halting attempt, reached forward to catch him, and felt herself slipping, then straightened up, leaned too far backwards, and her feet shot suddenly out from under her. Pupil and teacher crashed to the ice. John was the first to recover himself, although the unexpected fall had been a severe one. He stooped over his lady in spite of strangely shaky knees, and found her sobbing, partly from nervous shock and partly from mortification. "Hurt, Louise?" She sat up angrily and dug her mittened hands into her eyes. He caught a murmur of "Horrid old thing!" and she began to sob. The boy knelt and removed her skates gently. "Come," he suggested wisely. "We'll go into the warming house and have something to eat. Then you'll feel better. Catch hold of my hand. One, two, three! Up you come." They sat down on one of the gray, wooden benches which lined the big room. Louise studied the dingy sign on the post by the counter. "Aren't mad, are you?" he asked anxiously. "I didn't do it on purpose." The easy tears had dried and she shook her head cheerfully. "Give me some apple pie," she began. Thus peace was concluded. When she had drained the last drop of cider from the glass and dropped the pasteboard pie plate on the floor, John kicked it under the seat with his heel and leaned over to her. "Take some more," he urged. "I'm not Sid DuPree." Since the disastrous one in late December, there had been two exceedingly prosperous snowfalls to supplement the newspaper revenue, and he had plundered the pig bank for funds for the evening with a clear conscience. Again Louise eyed the placard. Coffee was for grown-ups, and strictly forbidden at home; therefore she would sample a cup of it. "And a red-hot sandwich and some more apple pie, Johnny." When she had finished, they started for home. Their feet were still unaccustomed to the difference between walking and skating and they stumbled now and then along the path. As they came to the road, John looked down at her anxiously. "Have a good time?" "It was peachy." "Aren't you glad you didn't go with Sid?" She nodded. "Have enough to eat?" She assented heavily. Strange how the taste of that forbidden coffee lingered in her mouth.