ve been
learning about in history, only much nicer," with a grimace; "it will be
awful fun." And thus the friendship was begun.

When they reached the pond it appeared to be quite fit for skating, and
Alan soon fastened on his skates and started off. They were pleased to
find that there was no one else skating; in fact, they had it all to
themselves. It was amusing to see the three dogs trying to follow Alan,
especially fat little Curly, who rolled over several times in his
frantic efforts to keep up with the grown-up dogs.

The girls watched Alan's movements with interest. He was a very good
skater, and could do all sorts of figures on the ice, seeming quite at
home upon it. He was shouting that he would teach them both all he knew,
when suddenly there was an ominous crackling on the other side of the
pond, and the dogs, who had gone over there unnoticed, began to bark and
whine excitedly.

"Where's Curly? I believe he's fallen in," screamed Blanche, and she
started to run across the ice.

"Go back!" shouted Alan. "Go round by the bank!" And in a moment he was
off at full speed across the pond.

Curly was nowhere to be seen, and Silky and Neil, the collie, were
barking furiously, leaping and splashing in and out of the water. Some
one evidently had been trying the ice, and it had broken away from the
edge, gradually cracking farther in. The big dogs had been able to
scramble to the shore, but the little one, frightened, no doubt, by his
unusual adventure, had been sucked in under the ice. The other dogs were
making frantic efforts to reach him, but the pieces of broken ice
prevented them, and poor little Curly was some distance in; and as the
pond was shallow, it would have been difficult for them to swim, even if
they could have got under the ice.

Alan saw at once what had happened, and judging by the dogs' efforts the
probable whereabouts of Curly, with a reassuring shout to the girls, he
began stamping in the ice, plunging knee-deep into the water each time.
In a few moments he pulled out poor little Curly--a helpless dripping
object, with no signs of life in him. Alan scrambled to the bank and
laid the dog on the grass. He tenderly wiped him as dry as he could with
his pocket handkerchief--a regular schoolboy's one of generous
proportions--and by the time the girls arrived, breathless after their
run, he was wrapping Curly in his coat.

"Is he dead?" cried Blanche, the tears streaming down her cheeks.--"Oh