woman several grades lower in the social scale, living in the same house. They were on the most cordial terms, however; and her gift — of course embroidered slippers — and his to her — of course “The Illustrated Poets,” in Turkey morocco — were exchanged with tender good-will on both sides.
“We shall meet on the ice, Miss Belle,” said Wade. “It is a day of a thousand for skating.”
“Mr. Ringdove says you are a famous skater,” Belle rejoined. “He saw you on the river yesterday evening.”
“Yes; Tarbox and I were practising to exhibit to-day; but I could not do much with my dull old skates.”
Wade breakfasted deliberately, as a holiday morning allowed, and then walked down to the Foundry. There would be no work done to-day, except by a small gang keeping up the fires. The Superintendent wished only to give his First Semi-Annual Report an hour’s polishing, before he joined all Dunderbunk on the ice.
It was a halcyon day, worthy of its motto, “Peace on earth, good-will to men.” The air was electric, the sun overflowing with jolly shine, the river smooth and sheeny from the hither bank to the snowy mountains opposite.
“I wish I were Rembrandt, to paint this grand shadowy interior,” thought Wade, as he entered the silent, deserted Foundry. “With the gleam of the snow in my eyes, it looks deliciously warm
