“When a dog howls it means somebody’s going to die,” croaked Hal.
“Well, I guess it’s none of us, anyway,” spoke Ned, quickly.
“How do you know?” argued Hal. “Maybe we’ll skate into a hole.”
“Oh, pish!” said Tom. “Shut up.”
“Wow-ow-ow-ow-u-u-u-u!” still mourned Bob.
“Yes, I know; it’s a shame, Bob,” said Zu-zu, patting him. “We could go just as well as they, couldn’t we? Only they’re boys, and we aren’t.”
Bob never gave her a glance. He turned his back on her, and looking neither to one side nor the other, with his tail curved downward and inward he climbed the bank, and headed for home.
“He’s disgusted. Come on, Bess,” laughed Zu-zu. So they skated up to the levee again.
The morning was glorious, with the sunbeams glistening over the ice, and the air full of little crystals. The river stretched broad and flat; here and there a hummock, and here and there a change from dark to light or from light to dark.
The steady rasp of the saws in the ice fields mingled with the angry shriek of the circular steam saws in the lumber-mills. All sounds were carried far, through this crisp atmosphere, over the level plain where once had been rippling water.