ould go home with her, which, of course, he could, and so all was
well. Almost before any one realized it, the time for the party to break
up came, and with a chorus of "good-nights" the happy gathering ended.

When the boy, with Liddy's soft hand curled confidingly around his arm,
started for her home, a mile away, he was proud as a king, and far
happier. And that long walk in the moonlight, while

"On his arm a soft hand rested; rested light as ocean's foam,"--

could he, or would he, ever forget it? I think not. It was a poem of
blue eyes like spring violets, of tender, loving words, of mellow
moonlight on the fields where the corn-shocks stood in spectral rows,
and the brook they crossed looked like a rippling stream of silver;
where the maples along the lane, still clad in yellow foliage, cast
mottled shadows in their pathway, and the fallen leaves rustled beneath
their feet. They did not talk much--their hearts were too full of love's
young dream--although he told her of his visit to a deserted house a
year before, and how he heard ghostly footsteps in the house, and saw a
closet door swing half open in a shadowy room, and he was sure there was
a ghost in that closet; at which Liddy's arm clasped his a little
closer. Maybe he enlarged a trifle upon that spook. Almost any boy with
a fertile imagination and his sweetheart clinging to his arm, on a
moonlit maple lane, with no one near, would. I am sure I would if I were
a boy.

When her home was reached he was revolving a serious problem in his
mind. To kiss Liddy in the games at the party was easy enough. It was a
part of the play, and expected. He had even ventured a few independent
ones when she pricked him, and though he got his ears boxed, she didn't
seem angry. But to deliberately kiss her now at parting was an entirely
different matter. No doubt Liddy knew what he was thinking about, for
when the gate was reached she paused and did not enter. She thanked him
sweetly for his company home, and declared she had had a delightful
time. He assured her he had, and then there was a pause. It was a
critical moment. He looked at the moon, high overhead. The man in it--as
all men would--seemed to say: "Now's your chance, my boy; kiss her
quick!" And yet he hesitated. Then he looked at the near-by brook where
the ripples were like dancing silver coin, and then at Liddy. Maybe the
laughter of those ripples gave him courage, for he hesitated no longer,
but full upon