ch harder thing for a lady who was so polite, and
appreciated him so well.

Mrs. Pragoff gave a hand to Prudy and Dotty, saying gayly, as they all
five took a car for the Park,--

"'Sound the trumpet, beat the drum;
Tremble, France; we come! we come!'"

There was just enough snow to whiten the ground, but none to spare.
Everybody was determined to make the most of it while it lasted, and the
Park was full of people sleigh-riding. It was really a wonderful sight.
There were miles and miles of sleighs of all sorts, shaped like
sea-shells, cradles, boats, water-lilies, or any other fanciful things.
The people in them were so gay with various colors, that they looked
like long lines of rainbows. Many of the horses had silver-mounted
harnesses, and on their necks stood up little silver trees, branching
out into sleigh-bells, and sprinkling the air with merry music.

"See, children, let us ride in this beautiful sleigh; it is shaped like
a Spanish gondola, and we ought to have music as we float."

"Fly can sing the 'Shepherd's Pipe coming over the Mountains,'" said
Dotty; and forthwith the child began to warble the softest, sweetest
music from her wonderful little throat. Dotty queried privately why it
should be called the shepherd's _pipe_: how could a shepherd smoke
while he sang?

"O, how beautiful!" said everybody, when the music ceased.

They meant that everything was beautiful. The air was so balmy, and the
sky so soft, that you might fancy the sun was walking in his sleep,
writing his dreams on the white clouds.

"Splendid!" exclaimed Fly, forgetting, perhaps, that she was not a
flying-fish, and trying to dive head first out of the gondola.

"Tell me, children, if you don't think our Park is very fine?"

"Yes'm," was the faint reply in chorus.

"Why don't you say, 'We never saw the like before?'"

"O, we have, you know, ma'am," said Prudy; "it's just like riding round
Willow-brook."

"Fie! don't tell me there's anything so beautiful in Maine! I expect
you to be enchanted every step of the way. Look at this pond, with, the
swans sailing on it."

"O, yes; those are beauties," cried Dotty; "I never saw any but cotton
flannel ones before. But do you think the pond is as pretty as
Bottomless Pond, Prudy, where Uncle Henry goes for pitcher-plants?"

"You prosy little creature," said Mrs. Pragoff, laughing; "I am afraid
you don't admire these picturesque rocks and tree-stumps as you should."

Dotty