"'T was a filly who won the two-year purse at the Philadelphia
races in sixty-eight," the squire informed her, between
gulps of sausage and buckwheat cakes.

"Was she very lovely?" asked Janice, in a voice of surprise.

"No. An ill-shaped mare, but with a great pace."

The girl looked thoughtful for a moment and then asked,
"Is that the only one there is?"

"Only what?" demanded her mother.

"The only Thalia?"

"'T is the only one I've heard of," said the squire.

"Thou 'rt wrong, Lambert," corrected his spouse, in wifely
fashion. "'T was one of those old heathens with horns, or
tail, or something, I forget exactly. What set thy mind on
that, child? Hast been reading some romance on the sly?"

"No, mommy," denied the girl.

"Put thy thoughts to better uses, then," ordered the mother.
"Think more of thy own sin and corruption and less of what
is light and vain."

It had been arranged that Thomas was to drive the sleigh,