"So should I, but there doesn't seem much chance of it," I answered; "therefore, it's best not to think about it."
"Other children go," she said. "I don't see why I can't. I think mamma might have a sleigh."
"That's mamma's business, and not yours," I said; "and there are more little children who don't ride than there are little children who do. There is one, for instance, coming out of the area, who has been poking about, in all the ash-barrels in the square, for a few cinders to keep him warm at home. Poor little fellow! Don't you feel sorry for him, Essie? His ears and nose are so red, and his lips are almost purple. I don't believe he's had a sleigh-ride, do you?"
Essie looked down thoughtfully at him, but didn't answer; no more repinings occurring, however, I inferred that she had profited by the train of thought the shivering little object below us had suggested. I still sat by the window, with Essie in my lap and a book in my hand, when, with a cry of pleasure, she started up, exclaiming, as a sleigh drew up at the door:
"There's Mr. Rutledge, and I know he's come for us to ride! Hurrah!"
I bent forward, just in time to meet his eye, as he sprang from the sleigh, and to return awkwardly his salutation. Esther waited for no permission, but bounded from my lap, flew across the room, and downstairs before I could recall her, and opened the door for him before he had rung the bell. There was a very enthusiastic meeting between them, and an excited "That's good!" from the child, and in a moment she was back again at my side, breathless and eager, exclaiming:
"Mr. Rutledge has come for us all, to drive out to High Bridge. Put on your things quick—quick as ever you can."
"Who's going? Who did he ask?" I said, breathless as the child herself.
"You, me, mamma, Josephine, all of us! Be quick."
"But listen, Essie," I exclaimed, following her to the hall, as she bounded off up to the nursery. "Stop a minute. What did he say?—did he say me?"