It was so funny to see some one suddenly plunge up to their waist in deep snow, and then roll, arms and legs in the air, for five or ten feet, that the girls were in hysterics most of the walk.
When the river was finally reached without mishap and too much loss of time, they were weak from laughing.
“Well,” announced Mrs. Baird, tears of mirth in her eyes; she had had her share of troubles too, “we will not go back that way, we would never reach home. We’ll go through the village by way of the station. Now don’t bother about me, get on your skates,” she added, as she saw the girls spreading out a steamer rug and collecting bits of wood for a fire.
But they insisted on making her comfortable first.
Polly and Betty made a fire and Louise and Florence fixed the rug in a small enclosure made by a clump of bushes, and situated directly under a big overhanging rock.
When these preparations were over, Mrs. Baird settled down comfortably and opened her book, and the girls put on their skates.
“Say what you please,” said Polly, “it’s not as smooth here as it was on the pond, and there’s a crack over there.”
This was true. The sun had been shining
steadily, and in spots the ice had melted on the river, leaving an inch or so of slush on the surface.
“Never mind, we can keep away from it, we’ve the whole place to ourselves,” exulted Betty, looking out over the expanse of ice, and not seeing a single person in sight. “Come on!”