"Dear me!" ejaculated Marjorie.
"I don't see that it's particularly 'dear me,'" said the horse. "I came from Christmas-land last year, and now I'm going back—that's all. New-Year's Eve is our time. Come, hurry up; if you want to go, you must be quick about it."
"Oh, I'm all ready!" Marjorie exclaimed; and with what seemed no trouble at all she sprang into the saddle, and was delighted to find the horse turning carefully about toward the windows.
Well, it was a queer experience. They seemed only to float out—out into the frosty, snowy air. The motion was delightful; but what were they riding on?
"Excuse me," said Marjorie to the horse; "what are we riding on?"
"Why, don't you see?" he answered—"on the snow-flakes. They always hold me up going back to Christmas-land."
"Isn't it delightful!" sighed Marjorie. And so it seemed. On they floated, past church towers, snowy streets, and open country. The bells grew fainter and fainter; Marjorie felt more and more comfortable. It seemed to her as if they were entering a beautiful snowy forest—the same she had seen slowly growing on the map, now so far away, at home.
Then she seemed to doze a little, but only to be roused up by a swift rushing of three or four rocking-horses apparently floating on in the same delicious fashion. At the same time Marjorie observed they were in one of the long aisles of the forest, at the end of which lights from a thousand windows were twinkling. She tried to discover who were the strange-looking people on the rocking-horses flying past her, but although she saw familiar signs about them, she could not quite remember where she had seen them before. Finally, with a whirring noise, she saw one of the dissections of her map right beside her; but how queerly it was changed! It was certainly "Augusta, on the Kennebec"; she was sure of that; but instead of just being a little town mark, she was a funny little figure with round eyes, and a good-humored expression, only it was certainly on the Kennebec. Almost at the same time a second figure on another horse flew by. This figure seemed to be made up of round balls, and it nodded to Marjorie's horse laughingly, saying, "How much am I?"
"I know," cried Marjorie; "you're Nine-times-naught."
"It's well you knew," said the horse, "for where we are going you may be asked that a great many times."