They went out, Ariel rushing madly about them, digging up the snow, running and jumping against them, until Paul had to send him in.
Paul was visibly impressed with Flip's progress, and when Madame Perceval appeared on skis, Paul flew over to her in great excitement. "Flip's a natural born skier, Aunt Colette!" he cried. "She's magnificent!"
Madame Perceval smiled at Paul and held out her hand to Flip. "Let's see what you've accomplished, little one."
She, too, was impressed. "You must have been working hard!" she said. "We'll have you doing Christianas and all sorts of things in no time."
"Oh, Madame, do you really think so?"
"Just keep up the practicing, Flip, as you've been doing, and I'm sure of it."
"She'll be quite a shock to everybody at the ski meet, won't she?" Paul asked.
Madame laughed. "She certainly will."
And Flip went to bed that night to dream of soaring through the air on her skis, watched by admiring throngs of girls; of executing perfect Christianas and the delicate loops of telemarks; and when she woke up in the morning her mind was still a happy jumble of snow conditions, stems, and langlaufs.
Flip had thought as she slipped out the ski room door after breakfast each morning that the girls would become curious about her hurried breakfasts and ask what she was doing; but they were used to her disappearances and absences and were too hungry and sleepy and hurried in the cold dark of the mornings to pay much attention to anything besides getting themselves out of their warm beds and then eating as much hot chocolate and porridge and rolls and jam as possible.