“Hello, Pat,” said Frank, skating up. “That’s good of you—I believe you’re a better teacher than I was. You’ll skate like a bird in no time, Sis, you’re so light. Ice is tricky at first—throws you like a balky horse till you get the hang of it. Come on, I’ll take you for another turn.”
Frank took her spinning with him clear to the end of the pond. When they started back he made her strike out for herself, steadying her with his hand. Before they got back to the big bon-fire at the starting point, Chicken Little had discovered the all-important secret of keeping her balance.
Ernest and Carol came up in great excitement to tell them there were going to be races and the spectators must line up along the sides of the pond.
“See they are starting now—you must be careful to keep off the track, girls. Here, let’s go over by that rock.”
Frank made haste to post his small charges midway of the course, where they could have a clear view of both ends of the pond.
Six young men lined up at the starting point while the starter stood off to one side to give the signal and another man was posted at the farther end of the course.
“One, two, three—go!”
The starter snapped the words out and the men swung off in long steady strides. Faster and faster they came till it seemed to Chicken Little they fairly flew. She watched them closely as they came nearer—there seemed something familiar about one of the racers. Suddenly she gave a little shriek of surprise.
“Why, it’s Mr. Harding—see, see! It is Mr. Harding. Oh, I just hope he’ll beat! Don’t you think he’ll beat, Frank?”
“He is a good skater, all right, Sis, but that dark chap is going it strong, too. They have to make the circuit of the pond three times. We can tell better the next lap.”