"Me an' the team," responded Jim Burns, with an effort at levity, "three of us altogether. How's yourself?"
"Oh, not too bad," Daisy, answering in the old phrase, caught up her "kit-bag" and stepped briskly along beside her escort; "what did you bring, Jim—the jumper?"
"What did you think I was a-goin' to bring," retorted her former playfellow, "the high-box wagon?"
They reached the end of the station platform. Down on the snow alongside, that homely but comfortable vehicle called a "jumper", full of warm-looking blankets, topped with the gray goatskin robe, slid to and fro as Prince the colt, secured to the hitching-ring by his halter-rope, rocked spiritedly from foot to foot and pawed the snow up in clouds.
"Whoa, you!" directed Jim Burns, as he untied the haltershank. Daisy pushed her grip under the seat, looked at the blankets, and then looked at Burns.
"What have you got all these things for?" she said.
"Oh, I thought you'd be a soft city-bug by now," said Jim Burns, as he came around with the reins in his hand, "and would want every rug I could find. Jump in, an' we'll drive around to the Toddburn House. Dinner's on."
The sleigh, at a trot, crossed toward the main street, half-way down which was the Toddburn hotel, with its stable just beyond.
"Where's that Beatty?" said Jim Burns, as the two heads rocked together to the plunging of the "jumper".
"Beatty?" Daisy had been looking half-dreamily around her at the familiar little frame houses and black-lettered store-fronts, "oh—him! You better ask somebody that knows, Jimmy."