“It must be gone,” said Fred. “I am sure we have been here above an hour!”
“Henrietta looks blue with cold, like an old hen obliged to follow her ducklings to the water!” observed Beatrice, again gliding near, and in the midst of her next circular sweep she chanted—
“Although their feet are pointed, and my feet are round, Pray, is that any reason why I should be drowned?”
It was a great aggravation of Fred’s calamities to be obliged to laugh, nor were matters mended by the sight of the party now advancing from the house, Jessie Carey, with three of the lesser boys.
“What news of Uncle Geoffrey?”
“I did not see him,” said Jessie: “I think he was in the study, Uncle Roger went to him there.”
“No hope then!” muttered the unfortunate Fred.
“Can’t you skate, Fred?” asked little Arthur with a certain most provoking face of wonder and curiosity.
“Presently,” said Fred.
“He must not,” cried Richard, in a tone which Fred thought malicious, though it was only rude.