energy.

Of course it has a manufacturing industry of some sort, or it could hardly be a New England village; and the chief building of Mapleton, in this line, is a large woolen factory that employs about three hundred hands. There are also a number of minor industries, together with stores, churches, and school houses. It is not a large town, there being, perhaps, three thousand inhabitants all told.

Among so small a number one might suppose that the people would mingle freely, and that exclusiveness would not thrive. At the time of which I am writing it did not thrive to any great extent; still, it was there, and showed itself principally in the refusal of the "town's people," so called, to associate with the "factory folks."

Exceptions were made, however, in the case of the head officers of the company, and the overseers of certain departments of the mill, who, by virtue of their positions, which brought them in a liberal salary, were graciously welcomed to the homes of the villagers.

These two branches of society had their different "sets." That of the "villagers" was made up, as is usually the case, by the drawing together of the well to do, the influential, and the better educated citizens, while the others were left to form such social connections as their opportunities afforded.

Fred Worthington's parents mingled with the latter class, for they were far from rich. His father was a shoemaker, and earned only a small sum weekly; but through the excellent management of his mother, they had a neat and comfortable home.

During Fred's younger days he thought nothing of these dividing lines of society; but as he had grown to be, as he considered, a young man—and, indeed, he really did possess more of that enviable bearing than most boys at the age of sixteen—he had come to realize that there was such a thing as a social difference between men whose Maker created them equal.

This fact impressed him more forcibly since he found that some of his companions with whom he had grown up, played, and studied side by side in school for years, were now apparently beginning to ignore him.

"Is there any reason for this?" he often asked himself. "Have they suddenly accomplished some great thing, or done some heroic deed which gives them distinction? Or is the trouble with me? If so, where does it lie? Surely I stood among the very first in my class at school—far ahead of Matthew De Vere and his sister, and some of the others who treat me so coolly. I wonder if clerking in a store is disgraceful? I always thought it an honorable thing to be a merchant. Merchants are everywhere among our most influential men.

"I have always kept good company," he reflected, "and never had trouble with any of the boys, except Matthew De Vere, just before I left school, and that wasn't my fault. I taught him a lesson, though, that I think he will remember, and ever since then he has been trying to pay me for it by turning the girls and boys against me; but only a few of them have shown any change.

"I know my father and mother do not belong to the same 'set' as theirs, but that is no reason why they should slight me, and it shall not be. I will work my way up and make them acknowledge me if it takes years to do it. But as long as Nellie Dutton and some others are friendly, I don't care so much."

When Fred heard of the party to be given by Grace Bernard, he was in a feverish state of suspense, wondering whether he would be invited or not. He felt that this was a crisis with him.

He had left school, but he argued that if he were only fortunate enough to attend this party, he would be placed on a good social footing, one that he could maintain as he gradually built himself up in the store; but should luck now go against him, he would be practically separated from many of his school companions, and separation meant disaster to a certain friendship that he prized more highly than all the rest, and which, as he believed, it would not be well to leave uncultivated even for a short time.

"Hello, Fred, got your invitation yet?" asked Dave, a few days before that fixed upon for the party.

"No, I haven't seen anything of it. Have you had yours?"

"Oh, yes; got it yesterday. I don't see where yours is though."

"It looks as if I were to be left out, Dave," replied Fred, with an assumed air of cheerfulness.

"That can't be. There is plenty of time. Don't worry."

This was a little reassuring, and Fred tried to believe it to be so—tried hard—but it looked to him, nevertheless, as if his case were a hopeless one.

For he reflected that the unfed fire soon dies, while that which is kept alive even by the smallest spark may at some time become a glowing blaze. But his fears were all for nothing, as in due time the much looked for invitation arrived.

On the eventful night our hero dressed with care and taste, giving his youthful locks especial attention, as all boys of his age do whenever they go into company, and then hastened to Dave's home to go with him to the party.

The large double parlors of Mr. Bernard's house were well filled with girls, about Grace's own age, when the two boys arrived. After the latter had disposed of their coats and hats, and had taken a final look to see that each particular hair was in its proper place, they entered the main parlor rather shyly.

"Good evening, Dave," said Grace. "I'm glad you came early, for nearly all the girls are here, and I hope you will help entertain them; and here is Fred," she added, extending her hand to him. "I am very glad you came. I have hardly spoken with you since you left school, but I see the store life has not taken away your color yet."

If Fred had a good share of color to begin with, it was not lessened by this remark. However, he managed to keep his presence of mind, and replied heartily:

"No, I hope not, but allow me to congratulate you on your birthday, for you are looking your best. I hope you may have many happy returns of the occasion."

Some one else blushed now, and evidently enjoyed the compliment, which Fred had managed very well, as indeed he ought to have done, for he had repeated it to himself at least forty five times that afternoon.

"I didn't know you could say such nice things, Fred, but I don't half believe you mean it," rejoined Grace. "But there is Nellie all alone on the sofa. Come with me and take a seat beside her; you two must entertain each other while I receive Matthew and Tom, and some others who I see have just come in."

"I was afraid something would happen so that you couldn't come," said Nellie, as he took her proffered hand.

"I couldn't very easily stay away," he replied, sitting down beside her.

"Why, how funny! And why not?" she inquired, trying to suppress a blush.

"The evening promised to be such an enjoyable one," he answered; "and yet I hardly dared to anticipate such good fortune as I have met with thus far."

"Oh, Fred, you are learning to flatter, I do believe! I didn't think that of you."

"If flattery is saying what one truly means, then I am flattering you; for if I had arranged my own program, you and I would occupy about the same positions as we do now. It couldn't suit me better, and I only hope you are as well pleased," he added.

"I believe you and Grace arranged this together," she answered evasively, "without saying anything to me. I must scold her;" and she partially covered her face with her fan, which seemed to mean that she was well satisfied.

"I am sure I had nothing to do with the arrangement. I must thank Grace for it, and I hope you won't scold her very hard, as this is