A BACKWOODS ROMANCE.
The light of the just-risen moon shone upon the black letters of the guide-post which said that it was one mile to Clear Lake Settlement, and illuminated as lonely a region as could be found in the whole world. On one side of the snowy road a deep pine wood rose tall and dark against the evening sky. On the other were stretches of field and marsh-land, which, even when warm and green with summer, had a desolate aspect, with their background of low, monotonous hills, and both before and behind were more lonesome hills, more dreary fields, and black masses of woodland. Not one homely roof was visible in the hard, white moonlight, nor the glimmer of a lamp, nor a waft of chimney-smoke; not even the tinkle of a sleigh-bell or a foot-step was to be heard. The silence seemed whispering to the hills. One star glimmered in the orange after-glow of sunset.
It had been an unusually warm day for late December, and the faint, delicate scent of melting snow was still in the air, though it was growing crisp and cold and icicles were forming on the branches of the trees.
Two paths which diverged widely as they trailed through the woods came almost together as they reached the road, and presently from one of these paths emerged the dark figure of a man carrying a lighted lantern. Stepping into the road, he paused for a moment at the opening of the other path, and, hearing footsteps and a slow, grave voice humming an old love-song, leaned against the creaking guide-post and waited for the singer to approach. He was young, apparently not over twenty-eight or nine years, was dressed like a lumberman, and was of somewhat broad and clumsy build. But in his face, which was clearly revealed by the flickering flame of the lantern, though he stood in deep shadow, there was no coarse rusticity. The full but finely-formed features had a most gentle and amiable cast, resembling those of one of Raphael's cherubs in their halo of yellow hair. A grave smile lingered in his sea-blue eyes.
As he listened to the voice, however, a look, half amusement, half annoyance, crossed his mild countenance, and his smiling eyes became steel-colored and flashed with something like anger; but it was only for an instant.
"Halloo! that you out o' the woods, John Barker?" he called, in a smooth, pleasant tone.
"'Pears tew be; 'n' yeou, Reube Wetherbee,—it seems yeou're eout er the woods, tew."
"Of course I am; but then I don't hev ter travel twelve or fifteen miles ter git ter the settlement. How about the dance to-morrow night? Your camp goin' ter turn out?"
"Some o' the hands catilate ter go, I b'lieve."
"But a sober feller like you don't care for such kind er jollifications much, I reckon."