On they went, Bunny Face, holding on for dear life, and Madam Iceberg in all her furs sitting there as grim as an image. They went very fast and soon all the shops were left behind, and the houses, and they started to climb the hill toward the big gate.
Then something made her look around suddenly and their eyes met. “Well,” she said, surprised, “who are you?”
“Bunny Face,” he answered promptly.
For a minute she looked as if she might laugh; but she didn’t. Then she said, “Do you know who I am?”
“Yes,” said Bunny Face; “they all call you Madam Iceberg.”
“Possibly,” was all she said.
Bunny Face was about to let go when she turned around again and said, “Now hold on tight.” They were turning in through the big iron gates which stood open.
Then the sleigh stopped in front of the house, and Madam Iceberg handed Bunny Face one of her bundles to carry, saying, “Here, boy, take this.” The driver looked surprised, and so did the maid who opened the door; but nobody said a word—just followed her inside.
It was big and dark and quiet in the house. Then suddenly Bunny Face saw something that made him stop short and drop the bundle.
“There’s the Spirit of Christmas,” he shouted as loud as he could shout.