“Th’ ice is good enough at this end; but ’tis a deal too thin o’er yon. You’d best have a care, of you’ll be in ere you know aught about it.”
“Thou go learn thy gra’mmer!” (teach thy grandmother) said Jack scornfully. “Hallo, maids! Come on the ice—’tis as jolly as a play.”
Clare smilingly declined, but Blanche stepped on the ice, aided by Jack’s hand, and was soon sliding away as lithely and merrily as himself.
“Ay me! yonder goeth the dinner bell,” said Blanche at last. “Help me back on the bank, Jack; I must away.”
“Butter the dinner bell!” responded Jack. “Once more—one grand slide, Snowdrop.”
This had been Jack’s pet name for his youngest sister in childhood, and he used it now when he was in a particularly good temper.
“Master! Master! yo’re comin’ too near th’ thin!” shouted old Abel.
Jack and Blanche, executing their final and most superb slide, heard or cared not. They came flying along the pond,—when all at once there was a shriek of horror, and Jack—who was not able to stop himself—finished the slide alone. Blanche had disappeared. Near the south end of the great pond was a round jagged hole in the ice, showing where she had gone down.
“Hold her up, Master, quick!” cried old Abel. “Dunnot let her be sucked under, as what happens! Creep along to th’ edge, and lay you down; and when hoo comes to th’ top, catch her by her gown, or her hure (hair), or aught as ’ll hold. I’ll get ye help as soon as I can;” and as fast as his limbs would carry him, Abel hurried away.
Jack did not move.