ll people some day that I used to fish in a
country stream with the governor of this state when he was a boy."

After a few moments of general conversation they all left the
statehouse together.

"Carey," said Mr. Winthrop, "I am going with the Judge to the club, so
I will put you in David's hands. I believe you have no afraidments
with him."

"That has come to be a household phrase with us," she laughed; "but
you forget, father, that Mr. Dunne has official duties."

"If you only knew," David assured her earnestly, "how thankful I am
for a release from them. My task is ended, and I don't wish to
celebrate in the usual and political way."

"There is a big military ball at the hotel," informed Joe. "Mrs.
Thorne and I thought we would like to go and look on."

"A fine idea, Joe. Maybe you would like to go?" he said to Carey,
trying to make his tone urgent.

She laughed at his dismayed expression.

"No; you may walk to the Bradens' with me. We couldn't get in at the
hotels, and father met Major Braden on the street. He is instructor or
something of the militia of this state, and has gone to the ball with
his wife. They supposed that this contest would last far into the
night, so they planned to be home before we were."

"We will get a carriage as soon as we are out of the grounds."

"Have you come to carriages?" she asked, laughingly. "You used to say
if you couldn't ride horseback, or walk, you would stand still."

"And you agreed with me that carriages were only for the slow, the
stupid, and the infirm," he recalled. "It's a glorious night. Would
you rather walk, really?"

"Really."

At the entrance to the grounds they parted from the others and went up
one of the many avenues radiating from the square.

The air was full of snowflakes, moving so softly and so slowly they
scarcely seemed to fall. The electric lights of the city shone
cheerfully through the white mist, and the sound of distant
mirthmakers fell pleasantly on the ear.

"Snow is the only picture part of winter," said Carey. "Do you
remember the story of the Snow Princess?"

"You must have a wonderful memory!" he exclaimed. "You were only six
years old when I told you that story."

"I have a very vivid memory," she replied. "Sometimes it almost
frightens me."

"Do you know," he said, "that I think people that have dreams and
fancies do look backward farther than matter-of-fact people, who let
things out of sight go out of mind?"

"You