Well, perhaps they didn't have fun that day--those two old boys that had started out with the feeling that they were "only sixteen," and bound to make "a day of it." And they did make a day of it, in fact, and such a day as neither had had for forty years. For, first, they went to Bartlett's hill, where the boys and girls were coasting, and coasted with them for a full hour; and then it was discovered by the younger portion of his flock that the parson was not an old, stiff, solemn, surly poke, as they had thought, but a pleasant, good-natured, kindly soul, who could take and give a joke and steer a sled as well as the smartest boy in the crowd; and when it came to snow-balling, he could send a ball further than Bill Sykes himself, who could out-throw any boy in town, and roll up a bigger block to the new snow fort they were building than any three boys among them. And how the parson enjoyed being a boy again! How exhilarating the slide down the steep hill; how invigorating the pure, cool air; how pleasant the noise of the chatting and joking going on around him; how bright and sweet the boys and girls looked, with their rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes; how the old parson's heart thrilled as they crowded around him when he would go, and urged him to stay; and how little Alice Dorchester begged him, with her little arms around his neck, to "jes stay and gib me one more slide." [Illustration: "_Little Alice Dorchester begged him to stay._"] "You never made such a pastoral call as that, parson," said the deacon, as they drove away amid the cheers of the boys and the good-byes of the girls, while the former fired off a volley of snowballs in his honor and the latter waved their muffs and handkerchiefs after them. "God bless them! God bless them!" said the parson. "They have lifted a great load from my heart and taught me the sweetness of life, of youth and the wisdom of Him who took the little ones in His arms and blessed them. Ah, deacon," he added, "I've been a great fool, but I'll be so, thank God, no more." III