Just before Christmas play was legitimate; and the young Lesters, skates in hand, had just returned from the lake, and were grouped together round, the fire, noisily praising and criticising each other’s recent performances.
“I never should have had a tumble all day if Bob hadn’t come up against me like a steam engine,” cried the one girl, a tall creature of sixteen, big, fair, and rosy.
“I came against you! That’s a good one. Who could keep out of your way?” ejaculated the aggrieved twin brother. “You can no more guide yourself than—”
“A balloon,” put in the more softly accented voice of the eldest brother present, as he unfastened his skates from the neck of his great Saint Bernard, who had dutifully carried them home for him.
“Now, Cherry, that’s not true!” cried the girl in loud indignation. “Of course I can’t be expected to do figures of eight and spread-eagles like you and Jack.”
“I saw an American fellow the other day who skated twice as well as either of us.”
“No? All! I don’t believe that!” from the girl.
“But then they’ve ice all the year round,” from Bob.
“I daresay they can’t do anything else,” from Jack.
“Jack always is so liberal!” from Cheriton; and then, “Hush! here’s the squire.”