would skim along.

"Hurrah! There's Allington, and there's Tom," he cried, springing up as
the train shot under the bridge near the station. "Come on, mother, I
have your traps, great box, little box, soap-stone, and bag. Here we
are! And, my eyes what a blizzard! It's storming great guns, but here
goes," and the eager boy jumped from the car into the snow, and shook
hands with Tom, his Aunt Lucy's coachman, and the baggage-master, and
the boy from the market where his aunt bought her meat, and Saul
Sullivan, the fiddler, the most shiftless, easy-going fellow in
Allington, who wore one of Grey's discarded hats given to him the
previous year.

"Holloa! holloa! how are you?" he kept repeating, as one after another
pressed up to him, all glad to welcome the city boy who was so popular
among them. Hearing his mother's lamentations over the snow, he said to
the coachman: "Here, Tom, take these traps, while I carry mother to the
carriage." Then, turning to her, he continued; "Now, little mother, it
will never do for those silk stockings to be spoiled, when there is a
great strapping fellow like me to whom you are only a feather's weight,"
and lifting the lady in his arms as if she had really been a child, he
carried her to the carriage, and put her in, tucking the blankets around
her, and carefully brushing the snow from her bonnet. "Now, father, jump
in, and let me shut the door. I'm going on the box with Tom. I like the
snow, and it is not cold. I am going to drive myself." And in spite of
his mother's protestations, Grey mounted to the box, and taking the
reins, started the willing horses at a rapid rate toward Grey's Park,
where Miss Lucy waited for them.

Bounding up the steps, Grey dashed into the hall, and shaking the snow