“You have to take the kind of weather you get,” said Artie, sagely. “It doesn’t make any difference what you want.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s going to snow,” announced Polly, rising. “Come on—if we’re going to Jackson’s Pond, we’d better get there. We haven’t reached the fork, yet.”
FRED HELD HIS LEAD, WINNING BY A YARD.
To reach the pond, it was necessary to skate to a point where the river forked. Two miles up this arm, one came to Jackson’s Pond, a place much used for picnics in summer and the scene of evening skating parties in the winter. It had long been an ambition of Fred’s to skate all the way to this pond, because he had always gone by automobile before.
The children skated steadily and soon reached the fork where they turned into the narrow “arm” that lay through a rather desolate country. There were no houses to be seen, but here and there smoke drifted from a chimney and indicated the presence of a farm.
“I wouldn’t like to live up here, would you?” said Artie.
“No, River Bend is much nicer,” agreed Jess.
“Still, we could skate to school if we lived here,” suggested Polly. “That must be the schoolhouse over there.”
She pointed to a small building set in a fenced yard. There was a flag pole, but no flag was flying.