"Though, of course," he added,
"there is scarcely anything to be seen save darkness, and that element
is strictly necessary to an appreciation of the beauties of 'Muddy
Little York.'"
"Oh," exclaimed Rose, "don't you see the lights flashing in the
windows, and in every little muddy pool on the street? Think of the
concentrated life in these little human nests set against the vast
wilderness. Look at those faint yellow rays mingling with the slanting
lines of snow, with the deep woods and dark sky in the distance. If it
isn't beauty it is poetry."
Her foot slipped a little on an unexpected piece of ice, and his arm
felt the momentary pressure of both hands. "It is everything heavenly
you can mention," said Allan devoutly.
He noticed the slight instantaneous withdrawal, and was impelled to be
practical, if possible; so he began to dilate at length upon the
future glories of York. "This will be a great city, some day," he said.
"Possibly, but who loves greatness? People may say what they please
against muddy little York. To me it is dear because it is so little."
"Yes, there is an unexplainable charm in littleness.
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