There was only a half-day's school on Saturday, and as the children were going home that noon, George said,—
"I call this rather slow getting ahead. Patty creeps like a snail."
"Because her feet are so small," said kind-hearted Mary.
"They are twice as big as common with mud, I am sure," returned George; whereupon Silas laughed; for whatever either of the twins said, the other twin thought it very bright indeed.
"There, don't plague her, Georgie," said Mary, "Moses and I have got as much as we can do to get her home. I tell you my arms ache pulling!"
As she spoke a frightful noise was heard,—not thunder, it was too prolonged for that; it was a deep, sullen roar, heard above the wail of the wind like the boom of Niagara Falls. Very soon the children saw for themselves what it meant. The ice was going out!
There was always more or less excitement to these little folks,—and, indeed, to the grown folks too,—in the going out of the ice, for it usually went at a time when you were least expecting it.
This was a glorious sight! The ice was very thick and strong, and the freshet was hurling it down stream with great force. The blocks were white with a crust of snow on top, but they were as blue at heart as a bed of violets, and tumbled and crowded one another like an immense company of living things. The tide was sending them in between great heaps of logs, and the logs were trying to crush them to pieces, while they themselves rushed headlong at terrible speed. The sun came out of a cloud, and shone on the ice and logs in their mad dance. Then the white blocks quivered and sparkled like diamonds, and the twins cried out together, "How splendid!"
"Pretty! pretty!" chimed in little Patty, falling face downwards into a mud puddle.
"Well, that's pretty works," said Moses, picking her up, and partially cleansing her with his gingham pocket-handkerchief.