“Capital stuff this!” cried Tom Bouldon, smacking his lips, after he had quaffed a glass of it, and, turning to Buttar, “I wish that the Doctor would provide us with something of the sort in an afternoon in cold weather. It’s warm lemonade, with a little wine in it, I suspect. I’ll take another glass of it, if you please.”
Of course the servants handed Tom as many glasses as he asked for. Buttar took two or three. Away they skated. At first Tom got on very well, but in a few minutes he declared that the ice had become more slippery than ever, and that he had the greatest difficulty in keeping his legs; at the same time, that he felt a strong inclination to push on ahead.
“I say, Buttar, I believe that I could race the wind. Come, let us try; I don’t mind what I do,” he exclaimed, as he skated on furiously. “I don’t mind what I do—do you?”
Buttar himself felt rather excited, but he suspected the cause, and recommended Tom to come and sit down with him on the bank till they became more composed. It was fortunate that they found out in time the strength of the punch, or they might have been, as some of the visitors to the pond were, by their own imprudence, completely overcome.
Tom was very glad that he had escaped committing himself, and much obliged to Buttar for warning him. He had bully Blackall’s career before his eyes to warn him of the effects of drunkenness, and dreaded by any chance being led into it. He more than once went up to the fire for a hot potato, but each time the punch was offered him he wisely declined taking it. By the end of the day everybody declared that never was known so perfect a first day of skating. Most of the party, except the more practised skaters, were not a little stiff and sore from the exertions and tumbles. Ellis could scarcely move a limb, and Frank declared that he felt as if he had been fighting away the whole day. They had, indeed, been on their feet from half-past ten in the morning till nearly dark.
The next day much the same scenes were enacted.
After luncheon, a jingling of bells was heard, and young Hotspur appeared, drawing an elegant American sleigh. John Bracebridge, who was driving, dashed fearlessly on to the ice. The steed seemed delighted to have so slight a weight after him. The sleigh—so it is called in Canada and throughout America—had a seat in front for the driver, and an easy sloping one behind for two passengers. A handsome fur rug hung over it behind, almost reaching the ground, while there were two or three buffalo skins, in which those in the carriage might effectually wrap themselves up. Instead of having wheels, the carriage was placed on runners, two skates as it were, made of iron, with a frame-work lifting the body of the carriage about a foot, or a foot and a half, from the ground, and giving it a very light appearance. The harness was ornamented with little silvery sounding bells, and fringe, and tufts of red worsted, which made the whole turn-out look very gay. It gained universal admiration, and two ladies were easily persuaded by John Bracebridge to get into it, and to be driven round and round the pond.
“You may fancy yourselves transported suddenly to Canada, and whisking away over the Saint Lawrence,” he observed, turning round as he drove on; “only I assure you that so smooth a piece of ice as this is rarely found to drive over. In Lower Canada especially, the sleighs are driven on the roads over the snow; but the old-fashioned French Canadian sleigh, used by all the country people, is so low that the front part sweeps the snow before it, and thus ridges are quickly formed all across the road. Another sleigh following has to surmount the ridges, and of necessity digs down on the opposite side, and scoops out more of the snow. Sometimes, also, they slide off either on one side or the other, and thus a succession of hills or waves, as it were, are made with slides, which send the sleighs nearly off the road on one side or the other, and make the driving away from the larger cities very far from pleasant. About Quebec, however, the roads are kept in good order, and sleighing is there a very agreeable amusement.”
As young Hotspur could not go trotting round and round the pond all day, John at last drove him home, and then Frank proposed a game of hockey on the ice. He had provided a supply of sticks and a ball, and the proposal was welcomed with applause. The people present were not long in forming sides. Charles undertook to lead one side, Frank the other. Frank got his stout friend to be on his side, but he generally chose boys. He got Ernest and all his schoolfellows, except Lemon, who joined Charles, and there were several other boys who skated pretty well, and, as he said, looked plucky. A person must know how to balance himself well to play hockey on skates, otherwise, after having struck the ball, he is very likely to allow his stick to swing round, and to bring him over. There were twenty people on a side, big and little; but the shorter ones had decidedly the advantage, and ran away with the ball whenever they got up to it, driving it before them before any of the opposite party could overtake them. Ernest gave his brother some useful hints, from which he profited. The same tactics which Ernest had often employed at school Frank brought into play. The chief point in his plan was to keep three or four boys together, one to follow up another. If the leader missed, then number two ran in; if he failed to strike, then number three, and so on. The stout gentleman also turned out to be a capital player. He went on the “sure and steady wins the race” principle. Quietly yet rapidly he glided about after the ball, and when he got up to it, never failed to strike it, and to strike hard too. His exertions indeed mainly contributed to the success of Ernest’s side, which triumphantly gained the day. Several games were played, and each time Ernest’s side was victorious, though the defeated party took it very good-humouredly. Charles, however, observed that he had received several lessons from his opponents, and that he thought they would not find him so easily beaten again.
“Don’t be too sure of that, Charlie,” sung out Frank. “We also intend to-morrow to play twice as well as we did yesterday. Our motto is, ‘We’ll fight and we’ll conquer again and again.’”