“No, I can’t remember,” said Grandfather regretfully. “You know all I know about it, Susan. Only I do think Chickamy was a foolish fellow to wash his toe just at that minute. Why didn’t he take the black-eyed chicken with him or leave somebody at home to take care of him?”
“Yes, it is a pity,” sighed the little girl. “Or why didn’t he wash his toe in the tub at home? Well, anyway, Grandfather, now tell about the time I came to live with you.” And Susan re-settled herself comfortably as Grandfather slipped down in his chair and stretched out his feet toward the low fire.
“It was a cold winter night,” began Grandfather, with the ease of one who has told his story many times, “and the ground was covered with snow. All the little rabbits were snuggled down in their holes in the ground trying to keep warm. All the little birds were cuddled together in their nests under the eaves. All the little boys and girls were sound asleep tucked in their warm beds—”
“All but one,” interrupted Susan.
“Yes, all but one,” agreed Grandfather, “and she was riding along in a sleigh, and the sleigh-bells went jingle jangle, jingle jangle, and the horses’ feet went crunch, crunch, crunch, through the snow.”
“Now, tell was I cold,” prompted Susan, as Grandfather paused to spread his silk handkerchief over his head to keep off the draught.
“The little girl wasn’t one bit cold,” went on Grandfather smoothly, “because she was dressed in fur from head to foot. She wore a white fur coat and a white fur cap that came so far down over her face that all you could see was the tip of her nose.”
“And that was red,” supplied Susan.
“And she had a pair of white furry mittens on her hands, and her feet were wrapped in a white fur rug.
“Well, by and by the horse turned in a lane that was so packed with snow that you couldn’t tell whether it was a Featherbed Lane or not. Crunch, crunch, crunch, went the horses’ feet, jingle jangle, jingle jangle, went the bells until they were almost up to the white house at the end of the lane.