"Is—isn't there a—a bridge over it?" quavered Agnes.
"A culvert that we can walk over," said Neale. "Let me go ahead. Don't you girls come too close behind me."
"But, goodness, Neale!" cried Agnes. "We mustn't lose sight of you."
"I'm not going to run away from you."
"But you're the last boy on earth—as far as we can see," chuckled Agnes. "You have suddenly become very precious."
Neale grinned. "Get you once to the old Corner House and neither of you would care if you didn't ever see a boy again," he said.
He had not gone on five yards when the girls, a few paces behind, heard him suddenly shout. Then followed a great splashing and floundering about.
"Oh! oh! Neale!" shrieked Agnes. "Have you gone under?"
"No! But I've gone through," growled the boy. "I've busted through a thin piece of ice. Here's the brook all right; you girls stay where you are. I can see the culvert."
He came back to them, sopping wet to his knees. In a few moments the lower part of his limbs and his feet were encased in ice.