But with no snow left, and with the streets mud and water, Ned decided that almost anything would be welcome.
“The paper says that the temperature will fall forty degrees by morning,” announced Mr. Miller, at supper.
“Won’t that be fine, though!” asserted Ned.
“It won’t be very fine for the poor people, however,” suggested Mrs. Miller.
Ned tried to look solemn, but the picture of the skating quite blotted out that of the poor.
That night, as he sunk his cheek into his pillow, about to go to sleep, he heard old Boreas sound a fanfare down the flue; and he chuckled and blissfully cuddled into a ball.
In the barn loft Bob, at the end of his burrow amid the hay, raised his head for a moment, inquiringly; then, with a shiver instead of a chuckle, he, also, cuddled closer.
The next morning Ned was detailed to sprinkle ashes and sawdust upon the various walks and paths belonging to the premises, so that the other members of the household might venture out with safety. For himself he left a narrow strip, leading from back stoop to barn, unsprinkled; it was his private slide, and was a constant peril to other back-yard visitors, notably Maggie and Bob.
There was now excellent skating on the flats, where several large ponds had been formed and had readily frozen over. But the river yielded more slowly. However, the zero weather was genuine, and had come to stay a while. Grimly General Bitter-Cold did his work, day by day and night by night building from either bank out toward midstream, until finally a juncture had been made and over the channel itself had been spread a crust of crystal.