d you; I will
sit behind."

Thus admonished--Miss Terry entered groaning, Arthur taking his seat
beside her, and Mrs. Carr hers in a sort of dickey behind. The newly-
married pair, who did not half like it, possessed themselves of the
smaller sledge, determined to brave extinction in each other's arms.
Then the conductors seized the ropes, and, planting their one naked
foot firmly before them, awaited the signal to depart.

"Stop," said Miss Terry, lifting the recovered umbrella, "that man has
forgotten to put on his shoe and stocking on his right leg. He will
cut his foot, and, besides, it doesn't look respectable to be seen
flying through a place with a one-legged ragamuffin----"

"Let her go," shouted Arthur, and they did, to some purpose, for in a
minute they were passing down that hill like a flash of light. Woods
and houses appeared and vanished like the visions of a dream, and the
soft air went singing away on either side of them as they clove it,
flying downwards at an angle of thirty degrees, and leaving nothing
behind them but the sound of Miss Terry's lamentations. Soon they
neared the bottom, but there was yet a dip--the deepest of them all,
with a sharp turn at the end of it--to be traversed.

Away went the little connubial sled in front like a pigeon down the
wind; away they sped after it like an eagle in pursuit; _crack_ went
the little sledge into the corner, and out shot the happy pair;
_crash_ went the big sledge into it, and Arthur became conscious of a
wild yell, of a green veil fluttering through the air, and of a fall
as on to a feather-bed. Miss Terry's superior weight had brought her
to her mother earth the first, and he, after a higher heavenward
flight, had lit upon the top of her. He picked her up and sat her down
against a wall to recover her breath, and then fished Mildred, dirty
and bruised, but as usual laughing, out of a gutter; the loving pair
had already risen and in an agony of mutual anxiety were rubbing each
other's shins. And then he started back with a cry, for there before
him, surveying the disaster with an air of mingled amusement and
benevolence, stood--Sir John and Lady Bellamy.

Had it been the Prince and Princess of Evil--if, as is probable, there
is a Princess--Arthur could scarcely have been more astounded. Somehow
he had always in his thoughts regarded Sir John and Lady Bellamy, when
he thought about them at all, as possessing indeed individual
characters and tenden