Ropes were unhitched from another sled and tied to lengthen that on Michael’s, while he and another carefully placed the little passenger upon the “Firefly,” bade her “Hold on tight!” and shouted: “Off we are! Let her go, boys, let her go!”
Then began not one hour, but two, of the wildest sport the old square had ever witnessed. The walks traversing it had already been cleared of the snow, but for once there was no restricting “Keep off the grass” visible.
The park was like a great, snowy meadow, across which the four lads darted and pranced, at the risk of many upsets, their own and Josephine’s, who accepted the plunges into the banks of snow heaped beside the paths with the same delight she brought to the smoother passages, where the sled fairly flew behind its hilarious “four-in-hands.”
Pedestrians crossing the square were gayly informed that this was “a girl who’d never seen snow before, and we’re giving her enough of it to remember!” Michael was leader, as always, and he led them a merry round, shouting his orders till he was hoarse, losing his cap and forgetting to pick it up, his red head always to the fore, and his own enjoyment intense.
As for Josephine—words fail to express what those two hours were to her. The excitement of her new friends was mild compared to her own. The snow sparkling in the sunlight, the keen frosty air, the utter enchanting newness of the scene, convinced her that she had entered fairyland. Her hat slipped back and hung behind her head, her curls streamed on the wind, her eyes gleamed, her cheeks grew rosy, and her breath came faster and faster, till at last it seemed that she could only gasp.
Just then appeared old Peter, holding up a warning hand, since a warning voice would not be heard. The four human ponies came to a reluctant pause, stamping their feet and jerking their heads after the approved manner of high-bred horses, impatient of the bit.
“For the land sakes, honey! You done get your death! You’se been out here a right smart longer’n Massa Joe told you might. You come right home with me, little missy, now, if you please,” said the butler.
“We’ll draw her there, Peter. Why, I didn’t know we’d been so long,” apologized Michael.
“Thought you was a young gentleman what carried a watch!”
“So I am, old Peter,” then producing that valuable timepiece he turned it on its side, studied its face, and informed his mates: “Half-past one, fellows, and my grandmother has lunch at one! Whew! Home’s the word!”