"Then we'll take a walk instead," said Oscar. But Thora would not hear of it. Helga had set her heart on skating, and she had set her heart on something else--making a sleeve waistcoat for Hans, the sailor.
"Well, if you really wish it," said Oscar.
"Really, truly! And I'll have tea ready for you at five o'clock."
"We'll be back before that," said Oscar, and then he and Helga went swinging down the road.
Helga, in her short skirt, walked with a spring, like a young horse in sharp weather, and Oscar, as he swung along by her aide, sometimes touching her, felt his blood tingling, and every nerve tremblingly alive. This frightened him a little, and turning to look back he saw Thora waving to them from the house, and said, "God bless her, the dear little soul!" And then Helga glanced at him sideways and laughed.
The frost had filtered the air, and it was crisp and quivering with currents of electricity, which stimulated all their senses. Their voices crackled when they spoke, and when Helga laughed the sound was like that of dry sticks in a quick fire.
"What are you laughing at, Helga?"
"I don't know," she said, and then they laughed together.
The ice of the lake was glorious--a broad mirror black as ink, for there had been no snow yet, the water had frozen as by first intention, and through five fathoms they could see the stones and pebbles at the bottom.
"What a pity Thora didn't come," said Oscar.