“You may if you’ll promise not to poke fun at us if we fall down,” replied Jessie.
“If you do poke fun, master Hugh,” said Carrie, shaking her head at him, “we will never consent to let you join our party again!”
“That will be terrible!” exclaimed Hugh, with mock gravity. “Why I’d rather be drummed out of our Archery club than be turned off by the ladies.”
“Well, you may go this time, if you will carry my skates,” said Jessie.
“Of course I will; and is there any thing else, in the small way, that your most humble servant can do for you?” asked Hugh, bowing almost to the ground.
A laugh greeted this act of mock humility, and then all parties prepared to face the keen breeze in search of recreation on the ice.
“Where is Madge? is she ready?” shouted Jessie, as she stood at the foot of the stairs, warmly muffled for her walk.
“Yes, Miss, here she is,” replied Madge’s mother, as she came to the top of the stairs, leading her daughter by the hand.
Madge was dressed in an old plaid cloak, which had become too small for Jessie, and in a scarlet hood which had been laid aside for the same reason.
“A regular little red riding-hood, isn’t she?” whispered Hugh, to his brother, after taking a survey of the prim, little black-eyed miss before him. Then looking sour and angry, he added, “But why does Jessie take the beggar’s brat out with her?”