When everything was ready, the two sleds started together down the hill. It was like the wind. It was like chain-lightning. It was like a telegram. As they tore down the hill, they made a hissing sound like the cracking of whips. There were sudden turns in the road, beneath which lay dark and deep ravines. If Tom had known that sometimes in these wild rides persons had been hurled over the sides of such precipices, a still greater zest would have been imparted to his flying trip; for he was a thorough boy, and loved a spice of danger. However, he would have had hardly time to dwell upon this thought, for in less time than it has taken to write of it he was landed again in Funchal.
[THE SHOP WINDOWS.]
I think I can hear some little tongue ask, "Are these beautiful pictures really to be seen in the shops, or has the artist only imagined them?"
Every one of these pretty sights is taken from actual windows in New York, and for days past gay throngs of people have tiptoed and crowded close to the panes that they might assist at such dainty doll receptions.
The central scene here is a bit of Venice. There are the bridge and the stairs and the arches, and there, too, are the ladies and gentlemen coming in their gondolas to attend a reception at some grand palace.
It is almost as good as going to the circus to look at the fairy figure standing on the back of yonder spirited steed, with the rows of doll spectators in the background. I think I like it even better than the real thing, for one is sure that this little lady has never known a blow, nor an unkind word, and we are not at all easy in our minds when we are watching some poor little Queen of the Ring, and holding our breath at her wonderful leaps.
The little picture entitled "Charity" may be seen in the streets every cold day. The contrast between the child, with her golden hair and warm furs, and the barefooted boy, ragged and shivering, who sweeps the crossings, and holds out his thin hand for a penny, is true to life.
Here is Baby, as large as the one at home in the nursery, her christening dress on, to be sure, and her bottle in her hands. What comfort she is taking!
But wouldn't you rather have that sailor lad, whose jaunty air tells you that he knows every rope in the ship, and can climb the rigging like a cat?