ly from his father's knee. Again, the only sound to
be heard in the room was the soft whick-whicker of the burning coal as
the flames licked the chimney breast, or the occasional rustle of
falling ash. Suddenly footsteps pounded up on the porch and the bell
rang loudly. John opened the door, and Silvey came panting into the
hallway with skates in one eager hand.

"Come on over to the lagoon with me," he shouted breathlessly. John
looked at his mother.

"How about your supper?"

He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. Hadn't he eaten enough candy for
a dozen suppers? "Please let me go, Mother," he concluded. "Please. It's
Christmas!"

There was no resisting such a plea. He flew upstairs to resurrect his
last year's skates from the attic, and was back in a moment for his
mittens and stocking cap. The door slammed as the two dogtrotted it down
the street. At the corner, John slackened speed.

"Are you sure there's skating, Bill?" he asked. Never, so far back as he
could remember, had the ice been in condition for the sport by December.

Silvey nodded emphatically. "Saw six fellows go by the house with skates
on their shoulders. So I asked 'em."

They left the park gravel path, now flanked on either side by leafless
shrubbery, and struck out over the hard macadam of the road. As they
reached the board walk leading to the warming house on the boat landing,
John strained his eyes eagerly ahead.

"There is, oh, there is," he cried as the long tile roof by the boat
house came in sight. "I can see 'em."

They spurted and pulled up at the skating house doors. A moment later
they were in the crowded, brightly lighted interior. Directly beneath
the apex of the roof, ran a lunch counter which divided the place into a
section for men, and another for women, escorted or not, as the case
might be. Long, wooden benches ran along each wall, all filled with a
constantly shifting occupancy. John seized the first available seat and
drew on his skates. A stamping on the hacked, wooden floor to make sure
that the steel runners were locked firmly, a wobbly interval as he
stepped out and sought control of his ankles, a momentary pause on the
steps, and he was out on the ice, with Silvey following. They executed a
few maneuvers and sat down on the boat landing.

"Ice is great," said Bill, as he tightened a skate strap. "Doesn't it
feel funny, though?"

John nodded and stood up again. "Beat you around the island," he
challenged.

N