"The whole country about here will be one glare of ice in the morning," said Mr. Canary. "You young folks will have all the sledding you care for, I fancy. I have seen the time when, after one of these ice storms, one might coast from here to Midway Junction on the railroad, and that's a matter of twenty miles."
"What a lark that would be," cried Tommy Tucker. "Some slide, eh, Bob?"
"How about walking back?" asked the other boy promptly, grinning.
Letters and papers were distributed. There was at least one letter for everybody but Ida, and Betty squeezed her hand under the table in a comforting way.
When they all retired from the table and gathered in groups in the big living room where the log fire roared Uncle Dick beckoned Betty to him. He put a letter from Mrs. Eustice into the girl's hand and at one glance she "knew the worst."
"Oh Betty!" gasped Louise, "what's the matter?"
For Betty had emitted a squeal of despair. She shook the paper before their eyes.
"Come on, Betty!" cried Bob. "Get it out—if it's a fishbone."
"It's all over!" wailed Betty. "Measles don't last as long as we thought they did. Shadyside opens two days from to-morrow, and we have got to be there. That's Monday. Oh, dear, dear, dear!"
"Say a couple more for me, Betty," growled Teddy Tucker. "I suppose Salsette will open too. Back to Major Pater and others too murderous to mention."