When they were all in and the warm robes were tucked snugly about them, Mr. Whittington whipped up the two black horses and they were off along the smooth snow-covered road.
It was one o’clock before they finally reached an old-fashioned farmhouse way up in the hills back of the Hudson.
“Every one out!” ordered Uncle Roddy.
“What a ducky old house! But what are we here for?” asked Lois.
“I know,” laughed Polly, stamping her feet on the porch. “An old-fashioned Xmas dinner.”
“Quite right, Polly, and I hope it’s a good one, for I’m starved. But here are Mr. and Mrs. Hopper, let’s ask them about it.”
As Mr. Whittington was speaking the door had opened and an old lady and gentleman stood in the hall.
“Merry Xmas to you both,” he continued, shaking them each by the hand. “Let me introduce you to the rest. Girls, this is Mrs. John Samuel Hopper, the finest cook in the State of New York; every chance I get to eat one of her turkeys—well, I take it,” he explained.
The old lady blushed with pleasure.
“Won’t you be coming in?” she invited. “The dinner’s ready, so you’d best set.”