We found several young men on the bank, some fastening their skates and some trying the ice with their heels, and as we stood there the numbers increased, and most of them went on without hesitation; and when they rushed in groups together, I noticed that the ice slightly swayed.
“The ice bends a good deal,” said Mr. Wood to a man standing next to us.
“They say it’s not so like to break when it bends,” was the reply; and the man moved on.
A good many of the elder men from the village had come up, and a group, including John Binder, now stood alongside of us.
“There’s a good sup of water atop of it,” said the mason; and I noticed then that the ice seemed to look wetter, like newly-washed glass still, but like glass that wants wiping dry.
“I’m afraid the ice is not safe,” said the school-master.
“It’s a tidy thickness, sir,” said John Binder, and a heavy man, with his hands in his pockets and his back turned to us, stepped down and gave two or three jumps, and then got up again, and, with his back still turned towards us, said,
“It’s reight enough.”
“It’s right enough for one man, but not for a crowd, I’m afraid. Was the water-wheel freed last night, do you know?”
“It was loosed last night, but it’s froz again,” said a bystander.