The guests were seated at long tables, each group of two or three having a pan of snow, on which the maple wax had been poured in fanciful figures, which were gathered off the snow and eaten with forks. There was a moment’s hush, as the preacher arose and invoked the Lord’s blessing upon the occasion. Then began a season of social intercourse and merry-making. An outburst of laughter from all occasionally testified to a fresh triumph of Uncle Jerry’s wit and called attention anew to the pale young woman beside him. There was circulated among a few near friends a photograph of a young man, a Westerner apparently, and it was whispered about that he was a prosperous ranchman and lumberman, and that he would soon return to revisit the home of his youth. The picture, and the neighborly remarks called forth by it, brought a momentary color to the pale face by Uncle Jerry’s side. Old neighbors and friends were no less interested in Miss Boardman, whose girlhood had been spent among them, and who was here to-night, accompanied by Ford Hulbert, the Papyrus real estate agent. If Lena Boardman were at all observant, she must have noticed the respect shown her companion by all present, and the slightest inquiry would have revealed the fact that he was universally respected in the little farming community. It was a weird occasion, for the snows of winter and the sweets of spring contrasted strangely with the warmth of the midsummer evening, and it was soon over. The last sentiment expressed at the tables, as the party broke up, was this of Uncle Jerry: “Our Berkshire women,--God bless ’em,--the sweetest things of God’s creation.” Lena Boardman and Ford Hulbert had come on horseback, a favorite method of travel with them, and as soon as the party began to break up they returned to Papyrus in the same way they had come. Down the long slopes the riders cantered, sometimes through deep woods, sometimes in the open. It was quite dark, but where the riders could not be sure of their way the horses could be trusted to find it. An owl shouted his greeting from the tall spire of a spruce tree. The hurried whistle of a whippoorwill rang out from a thicket of wild cherry bushes. Up from the deep aisles of a hemlock woods came the snarl of a wildcat. The roadside bushes had a spicy breath. A minty fragrance was wafted from the brookside. From fields freshly cut came the scent of hay newly mown. Hulbert reined up his horse, and stopped his companion’s, also. “Lena,” he said, “haven’t I been on probation long enough? You have known for a long time that I love you. How long are you going to hold me off at arm’s length?” “A burnt child dreads the fire,” replied his companion. “I said yes once, to my sorrow. I don’t want to be hasty again.”