The boy darted to one side, heeled on his right skate, and stopped. He had jerked the sled aside, too, yelling to Carolyn May to “hold fast!” But Prince was flung from it, and scrambled over the ice, barking loudly.
“Oh, dear me!” cried Carolyn May. “You stopped too quick, Chet Gormley. Goodness! There’s a hole in the ice!”
“And I didn’t see it till we was almost in it,” acknowledged Chet. “It’s more’n a hole. Why! there’s a great field of ice broke off and sailin’ out into the lake.”
“Oh, my!” gasped the little girl, awed, “isn’t that great, Chet?”
“It’s great that we didn’t get caught on it,” muttered Chet, deeply impressed by the peril.
“We can’t go any farther, can we?” she asked.
“Nope. Got to turn back. Why, hullo! it’s snowin’!”
“Dear me! and we didn’t bring any umbrella,” observed Carolyn May.
“You call Prince. I guess we’d better get back,” Chet said more seriously. “We’re three miles from town, if we’re an inch.”
“And we can’t see the town or the boats or the docks! Oh, Chet! isn’t this fun? I never was out in a snowstorm on the ice before.”