"Only an hour to midnight," said Cynthia; "can't we sit up and see the old year out? Do, papa, let us! We never have, and it must be such fun. We couldn't go to sleep, anyhow, after such an exciting evening."
Mr. Franklin consented, and they sat about the fire discussing the success of the game and the girls and boys who had been there, one or two of whom remained for the night at Oakleigh.
Neal and Cynthia were alone for a few moments. They had gone out into the hall to see the hour by the tall clock, and they found the hands pointing to ten minutes of twelve.
"Let us wait here for it to strike," said Cynthia, going to the window.
The lamp had gone out in the hall, and it was but dimly lighted from the room where the family were sitting. Outside, the moon was shining on the white fields and frozen river. The old year was dying in a flood of glory.
"I always feel so full of good resolutions on New-Year's Eve," said Cynthia, in a low voice; "I wish I could keep them all."
"So do I," returned Neal. "I am always turning over a new leaf. I must have turned over three volumes of new leaves by this time. But they don't amount to much."
"It is discouraging, isn't it? I have never said anything about it to any one before. It seems to me I am always breaking my good resolutions."
"I don't see how. First of all, it doesn't seem as if you did anything that is wrong—a girl doesn't have much chance to."
"Oh yes, she does. You don't know. And I have so many faults. There are my bureau drawers—I can't keep them neat, and my clothes would be all in tatters if it were not for Edith and mamma. And, worst of all, there is my tongue."