"
"Come on, here's just the spot," answered Carolyn Houghton, holding out
a welcoming hand; and then the girl from the South, who had never known
the sleighing-party of the North, found herself being whirled away over
the road, to an accompaniment of youthful merriment, bursts of songs and
tooting of horns.
Before it seemed possible the twelve miles of fine sleighing had been
covered, and the old farmhouse, its door flung hospitably open at the
sound of the horns, was invaded by the gay band.
Evelyn, in a quaint up-stairs bedroom, lighted by kerosene lamps and
warmed by a roaring wood fire in an old-fashioned box stove, was
attended by Carolyn Houghton, who was, as Jeff had said, a "jolly girl
to know." Herself a blooming maid with black locks and carnation cheeks,
Carolyn admired intensely Evelyn's auburn hair and fair complexion.
"Don't you think she's the dearest thing?" she whispered to a friend, as
they descended the stairs. "There's something so soft and sweet and
ladylike about her, as if nobody could be slangy or loud before her, you
know. Yet she isn't a bit dull; she just _sparkles_ when you get her
interested and happy.
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