“Want to go down, once? I’ll take you,” you offer bluffly.
From amidst the giggling society of her sex she bravely advances, and obediently seats herself on your sled.
“Oh, Lucy! I’d be ’shamed! Sliding with a boy! Oh, Lucy!”
Lucy wriggles disdainfully.
“Don’t you wish you could!” she retorts.
“Aw, John! Takin’ a girl! ’Fore I’d be seen takin’ a girl!” joins in the gibing chorus of your mates.
You hurriedly shove off.
“You got room enough?” asks your solicitous passenger.
“Lots,” you affirm huskily; and crouched to steer you leave the derisive crest behind you.
Down you spin—you and Lucy, both gripping hard the sled; your shoulder pressing against her soft back, and her hair-ribbon whipping across your mouth as you peer vigilantly ahead.