d. "We almost upset
just then."

George declined to heed this advice. "Because there's too much pink in
your cheeks for a snowflake," he continued. "What's that fairy story
about snow-white and rose-red--"

"We're going pretty fast, Mr. Minafer!"

"Well, you see, I'm only here for two weeks."

"I mean the sleigh!" she explained. "We're not the only people on the
street, you know."

"Oh, they'll keep out of the way."

"That's very patrician charioteering, but it seems to me a horse like
this needs guidance. I'm sure he's going almost twenty miles an hour."

"That's nothing," said George; but he consented to look forward again.
"He can trot under three minutes, all right." He laughed. "I suppose
your father thinks he can build a horseless carriage to go that fast!"

"They go that fast already, sometimes."

"Yes," said George; "they do--for about a hundred feet! Then they give a
yell and burn up."

Evidently she decided not to defend her father's faith in horseless
carriages, for she laughed, and said nothing. The cold air was
polka-dotted with snowflakes, and trembled to the loud, continuous
jingling of sleighbells. Boys and girls, all aglow and panting jets of
vapour, darted at the passing sleighs to ride on the runners, or sought
to rope their sleds to any vehicle whatever, but the fleetest no more
than just touched the flying cutter, though a hundred soggy mittens
grasped for it, then reeled and whirled till sometimes the wearers
of those daring mittens plunged flat in the snow and lay a-sprawl,
reflecting. For this was the holiday time, and all the boys and girls in
town were out, most of them on National Avenue.

But there came panting and chugging up that flat thoroughfare a thing
which some day was to spoil all their sleigh-time merriment--save for
the rashest and most disobedient. It was vaguely like a topless
surry, but cumbrous with unwholesome excrescences fore and aft, while
underneath were spinning leather belts and something that whirred and
howled and seemed to stagger. The ride-stealers made no attempt to
fasten their sleds to a contrivance so nonsensical and yet so fearsome.
Instead, they gave over their sport and concentrated all their energies
in their lungs, so that up and down the street the one cry shrilled
increasingly: "Git a hoss! Git a hoss! Git a hoss! Mister, why don't
you git a hoss?" But the mahout in charge, sitting solitary on the front
seat, was unconcerned--he laughed, and n