Winter had set in. The snow in soft, white piles, barred up the cottage
door, and hung shelving over the barn-roof and fences; while every tiny
twig and branch bent heavily, with its soft fleecy burthen. "Papa" was
to go to the city that morning in a sleigh. Daisy had already heard
the bells tinkling at the barn-door, as Pat necklaced Romeo, who stood
pawing and snorting, as if it were fine fun to plough five miles of
unbroken road into the city. Daisy had turned Papa's over-coat sleeves
inside out, and warmed them thoroughly at the fire; she had tied on his
moccasins, and had thrown his fur collar round his neck; and now she
stood holding his warm cap and furred gloves, while he and mamma were
saying their usual good-bye.
"Take care of that cough, Daisy," said Harry; "don't come to the door,
darling, to breathe in this keen air. Kiss your hand to papa, from the
window;" and Harry scratched the frost away with his finger nails from
the window-pane, that Daisy might see him start.
"Oh, how pretty!" exclaimed the child, as Pat tossed the bright,
scarlet-lined buffalo robe into the sleigh, and tucked the corners
snugly over his master's feet, and Romeo, inspirited by the merry
tinkle of the bells and the keen frosty air, stood on his hind legs and
playfully held up his fore feet; "Oh, how pretty!" Harry turned his head
as he gathered the reins in his hand; his cap was crowded down so snugly
over his forehead, and his fur collar turned up so closely about his
chin, that only a glimpse of his dark eye and fine Roman nose was
visible. One wave of the hand, and the light, feathery snow flew, on
either side, from under Romeo's flying heels--and Papa was out of
sight.