Besides, Nan remembered that Mrs. Mason trusted her to go to the moving picture studio, and to return without venturing into any strange part of the town.

“Of course,” groaned Bess, “we shall have to go back and ask her.”

“Walter will find the place for us,” Nan said cheerfully.

“Oh—­Walter!  I hate to depend so on a boy.”

“You’re a ridiculous girl,” laughed her chum.  “What does it matter whom we depend upon?  We must have somebody’s help in every little thing in this world, I guess.”

“Our sex depends too much upon the other sex,” repeated Elizabeth, primly, but with dancing eyes.

“Votes for Women!” chuckled Nan.  “You are ripe for the suffragist platform, Bessie.  I listened to that friend of Mrs. Mason’s talking the other day, too.  She is a lovely lady, and I believe the world will be better—­in time—­if women vote.  It is growing better, anyway.

“She told a funny story about a dear old lady who was quite converted to the cause until she learned that to obtain the right to vote in the first place, women must depend upon the men to give it to them.  So, to be consistent, the old lady said she must refuse to accept anything at the hands of the other sex—­the vote included!”

“There!” cried Bess, suddenly.  “Talk about angels—­”

“And you hear their sleighbells,” finished Nan.  “Hi, Walter!  Hi!”

They had come out upon the boulevard, and approaching along the snow-covered driveway was Walter Mason’s spirited black horse and Walter driving in his roomy cutter.

The horse was a pacer and he came up the drive with that rolling action peculiar to his kind, but which takes one over the road very rapidly.  A white fleck of foam spotted the pacer’s shiny chest.  He was sleek and handsome, but with his rolling, unblinded eyes and his red nostrils, he looked ready to bolt at any moment.

Walter, however, had never had an accident with Prince and had been familiar with the horse from the time it was broken to harness.  Mr. Mason was quite proud of his son’s horsemanship.

Walter saw Nan as she leaped over the windrow of heaped up snow into the roadway, and with a word brought Prince to a stop without going far beyond the two girls.  There he circled about and came back to the side of the driveway where Nan and Bess awaited him.

“Hop in, girls.  There’s room for two more, all right,” cried Walter.  “I’ll sit between you.  One get in one side—­the other on t’other.  ’Round here, Nan—­that’s it!  Now pull the robe up and tuck it in—­sit on it.  Prince wants to travel to-day.  We’ll have a nice ride.”

“Oh-o-o!” gasped Bess, as they started.  “Not too fast, Walter.”

“I won’t throw the clutch into high-gear,” promised Walter, laughing.  “Look out for the flying ice, girls.  I haven’t the screen up, for I want to see what we’re about.”

Walter wore automobile goggles, and sat on the edge of the seat between the two girls, with his elbows free and feet braced.  If another sleigh whizzed past, going in the same direction, Prince’s ears went back and he tugged at the bit.  He did not like to be passed on the speedway.