nt into the business
enthusiastically. There was no dancing. We should hope not. Not in the
deacon's house; not with the deacon's daughters, nor anywhere in this
good Puritanic society. Dancing was a sin in itself, and no one could
tell what it would lead to. But there was no reason why the boys and
girls shouldn't come together and kiss each other during a whole evening
occasionally. Kissing was a sign of peace, and was not at all like
taking hold of hands and skipping about to the scraping of a wicked
fiddle.

In the games there was a great deal of clasping hands, of going round in
a circle, of passing under each other's elevated arms, of singing about
my true love, and the end was kisses distributed with more or less
partiality, according to the rules of the play; but, thank Heaven, there
was no fiddler. John liked it all, and was quite brave about paying all
the forfeits imposed on him, even to the kissing all the girls in the
room; but he thought he could have amended that by kissing a few of them
a good many times instead of kissing them all once.

But John was destined to have a damper put upon his enjoyment. They were
playing a most fascinating game, in which they all stand in a circle and
sing a philandering song, except one who is in the center of the ring,
and holds a cushion. At a certain word in the song, the one in
the center throws the cushion at the feet of some one in the ring,
indicating thereby the choice of a "mate" and then the two sweetly kneel
upon the cushion, like two meek angels, and--and so forth. Then the
chosen one takes the cushion and the delightful play goes on. It is very
easy, as it will be seen, to learn how to play it. Cynthia was holding
the cushion, and at the fatal word she threw it down, not before John,
but in front of Ephraim Leggett. And they two kneeled, and so forth.
John was astounded. He had never conceived of such perfidy in the female
heart. He felt like wiping Ephraim off the face of the earth, only
Ephraim was older and bigger than he. When it came his turn at
length,--thanks to a plain little girl for whose admiration he did n't
care a straw,--he threw the cushion down before Melinda Mayhew with
all the devotion he could muster, and a dagger look at Cynthia. And
Cynthia's perfidious smile only enraged him the more. John felt wronged,
and worked himself up to pass a wretched evening.

When supper came, he never went near Cynthia, and busied himself in
carrying differ