"What a gorgeous day for a sleigh-ride! Did you ever see such sunny, twinkling snow, and such crisp, crackly air? It fairly snaps off as you breathe it!" Betty McGuire stood on the steps of the veranda as she spoke. Her mother, in the doorway, was smiling down at her, and her pony, Dixie, was jingling his bells and pawing at the snow and ice in the driveway below. It was the first trial of the pretty new cutter, and the joyous excitement of the occasion made Betty's cheeks as red as her scarlet tam-o'-shanter cap, or her red cloth coat with its high fur collar. Betty drew on her driving-gloves, still talking to her mother. "Isn't it a darling sleigh, Mother? Did you ever see such a pretty one? And Dixie is so proud of it." "It's a beauty, Betty. I know you'll enjoy it. Are you taking Tilly for a ride?" "No; I'm going for May Fordham to-day. We're planning for the party, you know. I'll take Tilly some other day." "Very well; be home by sundown, won't you?" "Yes; or very soon after. All right, Pete." The face of the big Irishman beamed with pleasure as he assisted Betty into the new sleigh and tucked the fur robe round her. "'Tis a foine turnout, Miss Betty," he said; "an' mosht becomin' to Dixie, -the proud little baste!" "He is proud of it," agreed Betty, as she gathered up the lines. "He's just vain enough to love those silver bells jingling about him. Good-by, Mother." "Good-by, darling," said Mrs. McGuire, and after watching Betty disappear down the winding drive, she returned to the house. Denniston Hall, though a beautiful summer place, was equally attractive in winter. Then the wide front veranda was inclosed with glass, and, heated by an arrangement of steam-pipes, made a delightful sun-parlor. The house was of the old-fashioned type that has two front doors opening into two large halls.