Blanche was too sweet-natured to be selfish over this proposal; besides, she rather liked the look of this boy with his freckled face and honest eyes, so she said, "Yes, let's have a Triple Alliance, like we've been learning about in history, only much nicer," with a grimace; "it will be awful fun." And thus the friendship was begun.
When they reached the pond it appeared to be quite fit for skating, and Alan soon fastened on his skates and started off. They were pleased to find that there was no one else skating; in fact, they had it all to themselves. It was amusing to see the three dogs trying to follow Alan, especially fat little Curly, who rolled over several times in his frantic efforts to keep up with the grown-up dogs.
The girls watched Alan's movements with interest. He was a very good skater, and could do all sorts of figures on the ice, seeming quite at home upon it. He was shouting that he would teach them both all he knew, when suddenly there was an ominous crackling on the other side of the pond, and the dogs, who had gone over there unnoticed, began to bark and whine excitedly.
"Where's Curly? I believe he's fallen in," screamed Blanche, and she started to run across the ice.
"Go back!" shouted Alan. "Go round by the bank!" And in a moment he was off at full speed across the pond.
Curly was nowhere to be seen, and Silky and Neil, the collie, were barking furiously, leaping and splashing in and out of the water. Some one evidently had been trying the ice, and it had broken away from the edge, gradually cracking farther in. The big dogs had been able to scramble to the shore, but the little one, frightened, no doubt, by his unusual adventure, had been sucked in under the ice. The other dogs were making frantic efforts to reach him, but the pieces of broken ice prevented them, and poor little Curly was some distance in; and as the pond was shallow, it would have been difficult for them to swim, even if they could have got under the ice.
Alan saw at once what had happened, and judging by the dogs' efforts the probable whereabouts of Curly, with a reassuring shout to the girls, he began stamping in the ice, plunging knee-deep into the water each time. In a few moments he pulled out poor little Curly—a helpless dripping object, with no signs of life in him. Alan scrambled to the bank and laid the dog on the grass. He tenderly wiped him as dry as he could with his pocket handkerchief—a regular schoolboy's one of generous proportions—and by the time the girls arrived, breathless after their run, he was wrapping Curly in his coat.
"Is he dead?" cried Blanche, the tears streaming down her cheeks.—"Oh, my darling little Curly, why did I let you out of my sight?"
"I dare say he won't die," said Alan, feigning a cheerfulness he did not feel. "The first thing to do is to get him warm. Where's the nearest house?"
"The Low Farm is the nearest," said Marjory doubtfully, "if Mrs. Shaw—"