his most gallant air,
at the same time pushing by Paul with a contemptuous look.

"Thank you, Philip, but I have an escort," said Azalia, accepting Paul's
arm.

The night was frosty and cold, though it was clear and pleasant. The
full moon was high in the heavens, the air was still, and there were no
sounds to break the peaceful silence, except the water dashing over the
dam by the mill, the footsteps of the departing guests upon the frozen
ground, and the echoing of their voices. Now that he was with Azalia
alone, Paul wanted to tell her how grateful he was for all she had done
for him; but he could only say, "I thank you, Azalia, for your kindness
to me to-night."

"O, don't mention it, Paul; I am glad if I have helped you. Good
night."

How light-hearted he was! He went home, and climbed the creaking
stairway, to his chamber. The moon looked in upon him, and smiled. He
could not sleep, so happy was he. How sweet those parting words! The
water babbled them to the rocks, and beyond the river in the grand old
forest, where the breezes were blowing, there was a pleasant murmuring
of voices, as if the elms and oaks were having a party, and all were
saying, "We are glad if we have helped you."

CHAPTER IV.

MUSIC AND PAINTING.

Philip went home alone from the party, out of sorts with himself, angry
with Azalia, and boiling over with wrath toward Paul. He set his teeth
together, and clenched his fist. He would like to blacken Paul's eyes
and flatten his nose. The words of Azalia--"I know nothing against
Paul's character"--rang in his ears and vexed him. He thought upon them
till his steps, falling upon the frozen ground, seemed to say,
"Character!--character!--character!" as if Paul had something which he
had not.

"So because he has character, and I haven't, you give me the mitten, do
you, Miss Azalia?" he said, as if he was addressing Azalia.

He knew that Paul had a good name. He was the best singer in the
singing-school, and Mr. Rhythm often called upon him to sing in a duet
with Azalia or Daphne. Sometimes he sang a solo so well, that the
spectators whispered to one another, that, if Paul went on as he had
begun, he would be ahead of Mr. Rhythm.

Philip had left the singing-school. It was dull music to him to sit
through the evening, and say "Down, left, right, up," and be drilled,
hour after hour. It was vastly more agreeable to lounge in the bar-room
of the tavern, with a half-dozen good fellows