ow and then ducked a snowball
without losing any of his good-nature. It was Mr. Eugene Morgan who
exhibited so cheerful a countenance between the forward visor of a
deer-stalker cap and the collar of a fuzzy gray ulster. "Git a hoss!"
the children shrieked, and gruffer voices joined them. "Git a hoss! Git
a hoss! Git a hoss!"

George Minafer was correct thus far: the twelve miles an hour of such a
machine would never over-take George's trotter. The cutter was already
scurrying between the stone pillars at the entrance to Amberson
Addition.

"That's my grandfather's," said George, nodding toward the Amberson
Mansion.

"I ought to know that!" Lucy exclaimed. "We stayed there late enough
last night: papa and I were almost the last to go. He and your mother
and Miss Fanny Minafer got the musicians to play another waltz when
everybody else had gone downstairs and the fiddles were being put away
in their cases. Papa danced part of it with Miss Minafer and the rest
with your mother. Miss Minafer's your aunt, isn't she?"

"Yes; she lives with us. I tease her a good deal."

"What about?"

"Oh, anything handy--whatever's easy to tease an old maid about."

"Doesn't she mind?"

"She usually has sort of a grouch on me," laughed George. "Nothing much.
That's our house just beyond grandfather's." He waved a sealskin
gauntlet to indicate the house Major Amberson had built for Isabel as a
wedding gift. "It's almost the same as grandfather's, only not as large
and hasn't got a regular ballroom. We gave the dance, last night, at
grandfather's on account of the ballroom, and because I'm the only
grandchild, you know. Of course, some day that'll be my house, though I
expect my mother will most likely go on living where she does now, with
father and Aunt Fanny. I suppose I'll probably build a country house,
too--somewhere East, I guess." He stopped speaking, and frowned as they
passed a closed carriage and pair. The body of this comfortable vehicle
sagged slightly to one side; the paint was old and seamed with hundreds
of minute cracks like little rivers on a black map; the coachman, a fat
and elderly darky, seemed to drowse upon the box; but the open window
afforded the occupants of the cutter a glimpse of a tired, fine old
face, a silk hat, a pearl tie, and an astrachan collar, evidently out to
take the air.

"There's your grandfather now," said Lucy. "Isn't it?"

George's frown was not relaxed. "Yes, it is; and he ought to gi