No, bless my soul, it's wheels! The Governor's here, Molly! Fill
their glasses at once--they'll be frozen through!"
Mrs. Lightfoot, who had been watching from the ivied panes of the parlour,
rustled, with sharp exclamation, into the hall, and began hastily dipping
from the silver punch bowl. "I really think, Mr. Lightfoot, that the house
would be more comfortable if you'd be content to keep the front door
closed," she found time to remark. "Do take your glass by the fire, Mr.
Blake; I declare, I positively feel the sleet in my face. Don't you think
it would be just as hospitable, Mr. Lightfoot, to open to them when they
knock?"
"What, keep the door shut on Christmas Eve, Molly!" exclaimed the Major
from the front steps, where the snow was falling on his bare head. "Why,
you're no better than a heathen. It's time you were learning your catechism
over again. Ah, here they are, here they are! Come in, ladies, come in. The
night is cold, but the welcome's warm.--Cupid, you fool, bring an umbrella,
and don't stand grinning there.--Here, my dear Miss Lydia, take my arm, and
never mind the weather; we've the best apple toddy in Virginia to warm you
with, and the biggest log in the woods for you to look at. Ah, come in,
come in," and he led Miss Lydia, in her white wool "fascinator," into the
house where Mrs. Lightfoot stood waiting with open arms and the apple
toddy. The Governor had insisted upon carrying his wife, lest she chill her
feet, and Betty and Virginia, in their long cloaks, fluttered across the
snow and up the steps.
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