Probably not, and now there he was floating out into the middle of the pond on a wide cake of ice, and drifting down toward the dam. The water was rising, for the snow was melting fast, and the cake of ice Ben was on rocked now and then in a way which made him seem to bow to his friends on shore.
"Isn't he polite, though!" said Billy McCoy. "Pity he can't swim."
"Swim!" exclaimed Joe Larkin; "I guess so. There he goes, boys. Just a rod or two more."
Most of them gave vent to their feelings in a volley of snow-balls which fell about half way short of their mark. Then they all stood still, for the swift water seemed to seize Ben's cake of ice with a sudden jerk, and swept it to the edge of the dam. For one short minute the brittle raft stuck on the edge, and then it broke right in two. With a great slushy splash the snow Ben went to pieces, and was carried over the slippery "apron," down among the foaming eddies below.
Every boy that was looking on drew a long breath and held it for a moment, and then there rose a chorus of shouts.
Joe Larkin led off with, "Good-by, Ben!"
And the rest followed with: "Hi! hi! hurrah! Good-by, Ben!"
Burr Whitcomb remarked, a little soberly, as he turned away: "Well, I don't care; he was the best snow man I ever saw. He looked a good deal like Ben Franklin."