Presently Ned, arousing himself, kicked off his skates, and while Tom was fumbling with his, removed those of the passive Hal, also.
Ned stood up. Tom stood up. Hal tried, and fell back.
“Hal, you must!” again ordered Ned. “Don’t be a baby!”
“I’m not a baby!” sobbed Hal, stung to the quick, and staggering to his feet.
Tom looked on, saying nothing.
Off they went. As they warmed to their work, they found that walking was an agreeable change. The wind was broken by the trees, and although it wailed and roared, and the snow sifted in their faces, still they were far more comfortable than they had been upon the river.
Hal pluckily braced up, and would take no more help. Tom made no sign either way. Ned sang and whistled and joked, all by himself, and ever one leg from the knee down was only a dead weight. Sometimes he stole a glance at it to make sure that it was there.
Eagle Island seemed deserted. In all their long, dreary march, slipping, tripping, faint with hunger and wet with snow and perspiration, they saw not a house, nor heard, save Ned’s, a human voice.
When they reached the edge of the woods, they found that they had cut across the island, and were at the Paper-mill Slough.
Here Hal broke down again.