Whenever it was possible, he coaxed Roger to cease warfare on the Sabbath Day, and to return to Marshwood, often accomplishing the homeward journey under very adverse circumstances and with great fatigue; but nevertheless he was sure to be in his place in chapel, an attentive listener to John Cleveland’s exhortations. The minister was his most devoted admirer, and declared to Nathaniel that the Englishman’s example had worked a wonderful change on the young men in the colony. Only Roger held aloof in sombre pride. Yet, notwithstanding the coming danger which threatened them all, and which at any moment might overtake them, it was impossible to check the natural enjoyment which sprang up, the result of youth and health. The clear atmosphere was so exhilarating that the young people could not remain within doors. Sleighing parties, tobogganing, skating on the lakes and rivers, occupied every spare minute of the short winter day. Shouts of merry laughter rang out on the frosty air. All the inhabitants of the village would turn out on fine afternoons, making their way in snowshoes down to the icebound river, and there disporting themselves, sometimes till the moon and stars shone out; and then back home to the warm kitchens and the hospitable boards. “We are having a fine time of it. I never had a finer in my life,” said young William Parkmann, as he flew over the ice side by side with Marie Langlade. “Yes, we always have a good time in winter,” she answered; “but this year it seems better than usual,” and she looked shyly at her companion. “I’m glad to hear you say that,” he answered. “I shall never forget how happy I have been; and perhaps, Marie, when this war is over, if God spare my life, I may come back and ask something of you!” and as he skated close up to her, he slipped his arm into hers, and so bore her on even more rapidly than before. There was joy for both of them at that moment in the mere fact of living. The sun shone brightly on the glistening snow, which covered alike the hills and plains, weighing down the branches of the forest trees; but to William Parkmann Marie’s eyes shone brighter than the rays of the sun, and her voice was very sweet, though somewhat serious, as she answered,-- “When the war is over, William Parkmann--not till then--must you ask or I answer you aught.” “Let it be so,” he replied; and they skated on in happy silence, dreams of a bright future dancing before their eyes. They were so young-- “Hope at the helm And pleasure at the prow”-- they could not realise the possibility of a great disaster coming upon them; but their elders both could and did.