Skating fairly close, she called to warn them of their danger.
“Oh, go on!” one of the boys retorted. “The ice is thick enough here. We skate where we please.”
Connie said no more. She stood a moment watching the boys cut figure eights on the clear ice. As they glided past, she could see the thin surface weave beneath their weight.
Not knowing what else to do, Connie skated back to the other Brownies. Thinking that someone should impress upon the boys that they were in danger, she looked about for Grandfather Gordon.
He was some distance away, building a log fire at the edge of the pond. His back was turned so that he had not noticed the skaters near the icehouse.
“Oh, Grandfather Gordon!” Connie said, stroking over to where he stood. “Those boys are skating on the thin ice!”
Mr. Gordon turned quickly. Then dropping a stick of wood, he started toward the icehouse.
Before he could cover half the distance, a frightened shout came from the group of skaters.
“Someone has fallen through the ice!” Grandfather Gordon exclaimed, starting to run.
Connie now was close enough to see the frightened faces of the skaters who had backed away from the thin area. In its center, she saw a jagged hole, and a boy clinging desperately to the brittle crust.