about the wisdom of letting her flock go off alone, papa having been called away after the plan was made.
"Faith, ma'm, it's an illigant day barring the wind, that's a thrifle could to the nose. I'll have me eye on the childer, ma'm, and there'll be no throuble at all, at all," replied the old coachman, lifting a round red face out of his muffler, and patting little Gus on the shoulder, as he sat proudly on the high seat holding the whip.
"Be careful, dears, and come home early."
With which parting caution mamma shut the window, and watched the young folks drive gayly away, little dreaming what would happen before they got back.
The wind was more than a "thrifle could," for when they got out of the city it blew across the open country in bitter blasts, and made the eight little noses almost as red as old Pat's, who had been up all night at a wake, and was still heavy-headed with too much whiskey, though no one suspected it.
The lads enjoyed themselves immensely snow-balling one another; for the drifts were still fresh
