Their Aunt Gertrude, an elderly, crotchety maiden lady of certain temper and uncertain years, eyed them suspiciously as they came into the hallway with their skates and began donning sweaters and warm gloves.
"Skating, hey?" she sniffed. "You'll go through the ice, I'll be bound."
The boys knew from experience that it was always best to placate Aunt Gertrude.
"We'll try not to, Aunt Gertrude," Frank assured her.
"You'll try not to! A lot of good that will do. If the ice isn't strong, all the trying in the world won't keep you from going through it. And the ice isn't strong. I'm sure it isn't. It can't be."
"The fellows have been skating on Willow River for more than a week now."
"Maybe so. Maybe so. They've been lucky, that's all I can say. You mark my words, that ice will break one of these fine days. I only hope you boys aren't on it when it does."
"I hope so too," laughed Frank, drawing on his gloves.
"It's no laughing matter," persisted Aunt Gertrude gloomily. "Well, I suppose if you will court death and destruction, an old lady like me can't do anything to stop you. Although you'd be better off at home studying. Run along. Run along."
"Good-bye, Aunt Gertrude."