ed
a new world to John, and set him into a great flutter. It produced a
revolution in his mind in regard to neckties; it made him wonder if
greased boots were quite the thing compared with blacked boots; and he
wished he had a long looking-glass, so that he could see, as he walked
away from it, what was the effect of round patches on the portion of his
trousers he could not see, except in a mirror; and if patches were
quite stylish, even on everyday trousers. And he began to be very much
troubled about the parting of his hair, and how to find out on which
side was the natural part.

The evening to which I refer was that of John's first party. He knew the
girls at school, and he was interested in some of them with a different
interest from that he took in the boys. He never wanted to "take it
out" with one of them, for an insult, in a stand-up fight, and he
instinctively softened a boy's natural rudeness when he was with them.
He would help a timid little girl to stand erect and slide; he would
draw her on his sled, till his hands were stiff with cold, without a
murmur; he would generously give her red apples into which he longed to
set his own sharp teeth; and he would cut in two his lead-pencil for
a girl, when he would not for a boy. Had he not some of the beautiful
auburn tresses of Cynthia Rudd in his skate, spruce-gum, and wintergreen
box at home? And yet the grand sentiment of life was little awakened
in John. He liked best to be with boys, and their rough play suited
him better than the amusements of the shrinking, fluttering, timid, and
sensitive little girls. John had not learned then that a spider-web is
stronger than a cable; or that a pretty little girl could turn him round
her finger a great deal easier than a big bully of a boy could make him
cry "enough."

John had indeed been at spelling-schools, and had accomplished the feat
of "going home with a girl" afterwards; and he had been growing into the
habit of looking around in meeting on Sunday, and noticing how Cynthia
was dressed, and not enjoying the service quite as much if Cynthia was
absent as when she was present. But there was very little sentiment in
all this, and nothing whatever to make John blush at hearing her name.

But now John was invited to a regular party. There was the invitation,
in a three-cornered billet, sealed with a transparent wafer: "Miss C.
Rudd requests the pleasure of the company of," etc., all in blue ink,
and the finest ki