"To be sure! To be sure!" chuckled his old Majesty. "An' ye've told your father an' mother ye were goin', no doubt." "No, I--didn't. I--couldn't." "Coorse not; coorse not, but ye--" "Let me out!" cried Split. The sneer in his voice had set her aflame. She rose in the sleigh, cast off the furs, and, stamping like a fury, tried to seize the reins. "Ho! Ho!" The old monarch's bowed broad shoulders shook with laughter as he caught her trembling hands and held them. "What a little spitfire! A divvle of a temper ye've got, my dear. Cody, now, does he like gyurls with such a temper?" "Will you let me out?" Her voice was hoarse with anger. "Can't ye wait till we get t' a crossin', ye little termagant?" "No--no!" She tore her hands from him, and, with a quick, lithe leap from the low sleigh, landed, a bit dazed, in the snow banked high on the side of the street. Uncle Sammy stared after her a moment. Then he remembered the boy behind. "Hi--there!" he cried, looking over his shoulder as he reached for his whip. "Git!" But Cody had the street-boy's quickness. All he had to do was to let go the end of rope he held, and the leg-breaker slipped smoothly back, while the king's runnered chariot shot ahead, drawn by the flying horses on whose backs the whip had descended. "Ugh!" shivered Split, as she made her way out of the drift. "It's cold, Jack. Let's run." Together they hauled the leg-breaker up the hill, parting at the snow-caked, wandering flights of steps, which seemed weary and worn with their endless task of climbing the mountain to Madigan's door. Irene mounted them quickly. She was cold, and it had grown very dark and late; so late that the lamp shone out from the dining-room, warning her that it must be dangerously near to dinner-time. She had reached the last flight when Sissy came flying out along the porch to meet her. "Split--ssh!" she cautioned, with a friendliness that surprised Split, who remembered how well she had washed that round, innocent face in the snow only a few hours ago--the face of Sissy, the unforgiving. "Dinner's ready," she went on, "but father isn't down yet. Go round the back way, and you can get in without his knowing how late you are." Split did not budge. The sight of Sissy had made her a Madigan again, prepared for any emergency the appearance of her arch-enemy might portend. "What are you up to?" she demanded suspiciously. "Oh!" Sissy turned haughtily on her heel. "If you want to go in and catch it--go." But Split did not want to catch it. Her day's experience had made her content to bear the eccentricities of her humble foster-father, but she was by no means anxious to be the instrument that should provoke a characteristic expression of them.