"Nan registering desperation," put in Laura Polk, she of the red hair and irrepressible spirits.
Laura struck an attitude of mock desperation, but the effect was marred when her foot slipped and she went down with a thump.
Her laughing mates helped her to her feet and brushed the snow off her dress.
"The wicked stand on slippery places," quoted Grace Mason mischievously.
"Yes," Laura came back, as quick as a flash, "I see that they do, but I can't."
The shout of laughter that followed atoned somewhat for her loss of dignity—although she had not lost much, for Laura and dignity were hardly on speaking terms.
Laughing and chattering, all trying to talk at once and all succeeding, the bevy of light-hearted girls reached the top of the hill.
Before them stretched Lake Huron, extending farther than their eyes could see. For a long distance out from shore the lake seemed frozen solid. A small island rose above the ice about half a mile distant, and this was the limit fixed upon for the coasters. The cove between the foot of the hill and the island had a glassy coating of ice that had been swept and scraped and served for skating as well as coasting.
"I wonder if it's perfectly safe," remarked Grace Mason, a little timidly. "You know this is the first time the cove's been frozen this winter, and we haven't tried it yet."