All ready, Miss Armacost; and I fancy your horses and coachman won't
be sorry. If this young fellow gives you any trouble just let me know.
I'll attend to his case, short order; with a dose of picra or some
other disagreeable stuff! But I wish you both the compliments of the
season and--this way out, please. Say good-by to nurse Brady, Towsley
Lionel Armacost, and don't forget that but for her care you might not
be starting on a sleigh-ride now."

Then he was gone, and they had to hurry along the halls and down the
stairs to follow him toward that outer door, before which stood the
chestnuts, jingling their bells and pawing balls of the light snow, in
their impatience to be trotting over the white roads and up to the
park where other horses were flying about, as merry, apparently, as
the people whom they carried.

So with a mere nod of his head, old Jefferson whisked the newsboy into
a corner of the cushioned seat and Miss Armacost followed without
assistance; but her doing so made Towsley remember something and sent
a blush to his pale cheek. That was, the manner in which real
gentlemen helped their women folk on any similar occasion.

"To Druid Hill!" said Miss Lucy, briefly; and Jefferson drove briskly
away.

For some time neither of the occupants of that warm back seat said a
word. Each was too thoroughly engrossed by his and her own thoughts;
but finally Miss Lucy stole a glance toward her small companion and
inquired:

"Do you like sleighing, Lionel?"

"Yes, Miss Armacost. Only--it all seems like--like make-believe. I
keep wondering when I'll wake up. And I wish--I wish Battles and
Shiner were here. I don't believe that Shiner ever had a sleigh-ride
in his life--Never; not once."

"Indeed?" asked the lady, coldly.

"No, ma'am. I mean, no, Miss Lucy. And he ain't much more'n a baby,
Shiner ain't. Not near as old as I am."

"How old are you, my dear?"

"I guess I'm going on eight. Molly thinks I am. You know Molly; the
girl that took me to your house or run me into you on her skate. She's
a dreadful nice girl, Molly is; but I don't believe she ever had a
sleigh-ride, either. Poor Molly."

The lad's eyes were shining from his own pleasure; his pale face was
rapidly taking on a healthy glow; he was a very presentable little
fellow, indeed, in his modern suit of well-shaped clothing, so Miss
Armacost thought, but--he was also spoiling her ride for her as
thoroughly as he could. Spoiling it without the sl