"Can I do anything for you—has anything happened?" he asked, eagerly. "Has anyone——"
"Oh, no, Will. It is—nothing."
"Then let's go back to the others," he proposed. "They may be getting anxious about you."
"No, Will, I'd rather not go back—just now. I'll go on—home." Amy hesitated over the word. "I can take a short cut across the fields."
"Then let me take off your skates," he said, gently. Perhaps he guessed at something that had occurred. "Come over to shore and I'll have them off in a jiffy. Then I'll walk home with you."
"No, Will," said Amy, in a low voice. "I had rather go alone, really I would. Just tell the girls——"
She hesitated again, and seemed unable to speak.
"Tell them I am all right—that I want to be alone. They will understand."
"Very well." He skated with her to the bank, where she sat on a log. Then, with her skates dangling over her shoulder, Amy set off across the snow-covered fields alone—with bowed head—and into her eyes the tears came again as she thought of what she had heard.
Will watched her, shook his head once or twice, as though puzzled, and then skated back toward his sister and the others.