"Oh—Walter! I hate to depend so on a boy."
"You're a ridiculous girl," laughed her chum. "What does it matter whom we depend upon? We must have somebody's help in every little thing in this world, I guess."
"Our sex depends too much upon the other sex," repeated Elizabeth, primly, but with dancing eyes.
"Votes for Women!" chuckled Nan. "You are ripe for the suffragist platform, Bessie. I listened to that friend of Mrs. Mason's talking the other day, too. She is a lovely lady, and I believe the world will be better—in time—if women vote. It is growing better, anyway.
"She told a funny story about a dear old lady who was quite converted to the cause until she learned that to obtain the right to vote in the first place, women must depend upon the men to give it to them. So, to be consistent, the old lady said she must refuse to accept _any_thing at the hands of the other sex—the vote included!"
"There!" cried Bess, suddenly. "Talk about angels—"
"And you hear their sleighbells," finished Nan. "Hi, Walter! Hi!"
They had come out upon the boulevard, and approaching along the snow-covered driveway was Walter Mason's spirited black horse and Walter driving in his roomy cutter.
The horse was a pacer and he came up the drive with that rolling action peculiar to his kind, but which takes one over the road very rapidly. A white fleck of foam spotted the pacer's shiny chest. He was sleek and handsome, but with his rolling, unblinded eyes and his red nostrils, he looked ready to bolt at any moment.
Walter, however, had never had an accident with Prince and had been familiar with the horse from the time it was broken to harness. Mr. Mason was quite proud of his son's horsemanship.