You'll help me, won't you, papa?"
"Well, my dear, I don't see how I can help myself," returned the Governor;
"I wasn't born to be the father of a Betty for nothing."
"Get along dar!" sang out Hosea again. "'Tain' no use a-mincin', gemmun.
Dar ain' no fiddlin' roun'. Git along dar!"
Miss Lydia had fallen asleep, with her head on her breast, but the sound
aroused her, and she opened her eyes and sat up very straight.
"Why, I declare I'd almost dropped off," she said. "Are we nearly there,
Peyton?"
"I think so," replied the Governor, "but the snow's so thick I can't see;"
he opened the window and put out his head. "Are we nearly there, Hosea?"
"We des done pas' de clump er cedars, suh," yelled Hosea through the storm.
"I'ud a knowd 'em ef dey'd come a-struttin' down de road--dey cyarn fool
me. Den we got ter pas' de wil' cher'y and de gap in de fence, en dar we
are."
"Yes, we're nearly there," said the Governor, as he drew in his head, and
Miss Lydia slept again until the carriage turned into the drive and stopped
before the portico.
Uncle Shadrach, in the open doorway, was grinning with delight. "Ef'n de
snow had er kep' you, dar 'ouldn't a been no Christmas for de res' er us,"
he declared.
"Oh, the snow couldn't keep us, Shadrach," returned the Governor, as he
gave him his overcoat, and set himself to unfastening his wife's wraps. "We
were too anxious to get home. There, Julia, you go to bed, and leave Betty
and myself to manage things.
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