road, with
his long whip curling in the air, which whip he now and then flirts so
as to make a sharp, cracking noise over the horses' heads, and
occasionally brings down with a light flick upon the flanks of the
right or left horse,--the carriage, shining with varnish and plate,
rolling along swiftly and smoothly,--the little boy is apt to think
that coachman must be a very happy mortal.

If the man on the carriage-box sees the boy looking at him with so
much admiration, he will probably throw him a jolly little laugh and a
friendly nod, and, gathering up the reins and drawing them in tightly
so as to arch the horses' necks and make them look prouder and more
stately than before, he will give a loud crack with his curling
whip-lash, and the horses will start off at a rapid trot, and the
carriage will sweep around a curve in the road so gracefully that the
boy's heart will be filled with envy--not of the persons in the
carriage--oh, no! riding in a close carriage is a very tame and dull
affair; but he will envy the driver. An ambition springs up in his
mind at that instant. Of all things in the world he would rather be a
coachman! That shall be his business when he grows up to be a man. And
the chances are that when he goes home he tells his father so.

But if the little boy, instead of lying tucked in his warm bed, should
be set down at twelve o'clock at night upon the pavement in front of
that great house with the tall lamps on the steps, he would see this
same coachman under conditions that he would not envy at all.

The empty carriage is close to the curb-stone, with the door swinging
open as if to urge the owners to hurry and take possession. The
high-stepping trotters are covered with blankets to protect them from
the piercing cold, and, with their heads drooping, are either asleep
or wondering why they are not put into the stable to take their
night's rest; and the coachman is dancing about on the pavement to
keep his feet warm--not by any means a merry kind of dance, although
he moves about pretty briskly. He has taken off his gloves, for they
seem to make his hands colder, and now he has thrust one hand into his
pocket and is blowing on the other with all his might. His whip, that
curled so defiantly in the air, is now pushed under his arm, and the
lash is trailing, limp and draggled, on the stones. He is warmly clad,
and his great-coat has three capes, but all cannot put sufficient heat
into his body, for it