“Closed for the holidays,” commented Fred. “There! Who said it wasn’t going to snow?” he added triumphantly.
A stinging wet flake struck Margy’s upturned face.
“It’s just a flurry,” she said comfortably.
“Perhaps we’d better turn around and go back,” said Polly. “We’ll be skating against the wind, anyway, and it will take us longer to get home than it has to come.”
“Oh, come on, we want to be able to say we’ve skated as far as the pond,” urged Fred. “You’re not afraid of a little snow, are you, Polly?”
“No, I’m not, but I don’t want to be caught in a big storm, miles away from any house,” said Polly, sensibly.
“This won’t be a big storm,” declared Artie.
But the snow continued to come faster and the wind rose, growling.
“I wonder if it’s late?” said Margy, suddenly.
“No, it can’t be,” answered Fred. “We started right after lunch, and it was only half-past twelve.”