“It’s like Achilles’ shield,” said Janet, who was tumbling round by herself, trying to slide.
“What do you know about Achilles?’ laughed Will.
“I’ve heard you reading to Uncle Billy. Perhaps I know as much as you do,” said Janet slyly.
“Well, then you don’t know much,” retorted Will, buckling his last strap.
What witchcraft it seemed to the younger children, when they themselves tottered this way and that, trying to keep their balance, falling and bumping and bruising themselves continually, to see Charlie and Will wheeling in figure-eights, leaning far over on the outer roll, cutting their names in the ice, and sliding off like flying-fish!
“Ho! I can do that!” cried Jack, stamping his skate into the ice. And over he went!
Aunt Rose took Ally and Essie by either hand, and swept off with them, their little feet close together, so that they really thought they were skating!
“It’s most like flying,” said Essie, delight in her eyes, her cheeks like red apples, while Ally, looking straight ahead, was silent with joy, her yellow hair streaming out behind her.
Janet went blundering about alone a long time, somehow, anyhow, and all at once finding herself firm on her feet, and making a stroke. Then the dinner-bell rang, and the skates had to come off. But after the lesson-hour they were out again, for the afternoon—except Will, who was behind with his Greek. And after they had spent all the spare hours of a week’s time on the ice, they were so expert that they felt like a flock of birds.
It was dark early at that time of the year, and one afternoon what was their surprise to see Uncle Billy and Charlie building a fire on the lake. “Oh, they are going to melt the ice!” cried Jack; and all the others echoed his words in alarm, and started for the shore.