“Well, if he isn’t a splendid skater, then I never saw one,” continued Ronald. “Why, they say he has skated a mile in three minutes and a half; shouldn’t you call that pretty quick travelling?”
Henry silently nodded assent—to the fire, and looked more “worked up” than ever.
“What, don’t you believe it, Marcus?” inquired Ronald, in a tone of surprise, as he noticed a broad smile illuminating Marcus’s face.
“Believe it?” responded Marcus; “of course I do. I’ve skated about as fast as that myself, before now.”
The fact was, Marcus was smiling at the thoughtless, good-natured talkativeness of Ronald, as contrasted with the timid and nervous reserve of Henry, and was balancing in his mind the question whether, after all, the services of the board of arbitrators would be necessary to bring the opposing parties to a reconciliation. That smile, however, seemed to have broken the spell that was upon Ronald. He dropped the thread of conversation, and was soon lost in his book, while Henry continued to sit winking at the glowing, coal-enveloped back-log. Aunt Fanny, who sat at the table sewing, now endeavored to draw him into conversation by inquiries after Mr. Allen’s family, but did not meet with much better success than Ronald. Pretty soon Mrs. Page and Jessie came in, and Marcus inquired:
“Can we have the kitchen, now, mother?”
“Yes,” replied Mrs. Page.
“Well, Jessie and Oscar, suppose we withdraw,” continued Marcus.
The three referees retired to the kitchen, and after consulting a few moments, decided to examine the two parties to the dispute separately. Henry was then called in, and gave his version of the difficulty, from its beginning to his destruction of the snow-house. He defended himself, as well as he could, and promptly and frankly answered all the questions that were put to him by the referees. He was then requested to withdraw, and Ronald was called in, and underwent a similar examination. The latter seemed in quite a merry mood, when he returned to the sitting-room.
“Mother,” he said, “you ought to go out there, and see what an august tribunal we’ve got. They’re all as sober as judges, and Marcus has got a sheet of paper, and is scribbling away on it as fast as he can. He made believe that he was writing down all I said, but I guess I can talk faster than he can write, any day.”