There are many pleasures in life, and plenty of people to sing the
praises of the sport most to their taste; but it is doubtful whether
there is any manly pursuit which gives so much satisfaction to an adept
in the art as skating.
I don't mean skating upon the ornamental water of a park, elbowed here,
run against there, crowded into a narrow limit, and abortively trying to
cut figures upon a few square feet of dirty, trampled ice, full of
holes, dotted with stones thrown on by mischievous urchins to try
whether it will bear, and being so much unlike ice that it is hardly to
be distinguished from the trampled banks; but skating over miles of
clear black crystal, on open water, with the stars twinkling above like
diamonds, the air perfectly still around, but roaring far on high, as
Jack Frost and his satellites go hurrying on to mow down vegetation and
fetter streams; when there is so much vitality in the air you breathe
that fatigue is hardly felt, and when, though the glass registers so
many degrees of frost, your pulses beat, your cheeks glow, and a faint
dew upon your forehead beneath your cap tells you that you are
thoroughly warm. How the blood dances through the veins! How the eyes
sparkle! How tense is every nerve! How strong each muscle! The ice
looks like steel. Your skates are steel, and your legs feel the same as
stroke, _whish_! stroke, _whish_! stroke! stroke! stroke! stroke! away
you go, gathering power, velocity, confidence, delight, at the unwonted
exercise, till you feel as if you could go on for ever, and begin
wishing that the whole world was ice, and human beings had been born
with skates to their toes instead of nails.
Some such feelings as these pervaded the breasts of Dick Winthorpe and
Tom Tallington as they glided along homeward on that night. Every now
and then there was a sharp report, and a hissing splitting sound. Then
another and another, for the ice was really too thin to bear them
properly, and it undulated beneath their weight like the soft swell of
the Atlantic in a calm.
"Sha'n't go through, shall we?" said Tom, as there was a crack as loud
as a pistol-shot.
"We should if we stopped," said Dick. "Keep on and we shall be on fresh
ice before it breaks."
And so it seemed. Crack! crack! crack! But at every report and its
following splitting the lads redoubled their exertions, and skimmed at a
tremendous rate over the treacherous surface.
At times it was quite startling; but they were growing so inured to the
peril that they laughed loudly--a joyous hearty laugh--which rang out to
the music made by their skates.
They were in the highest of glee, for though they did not revert to it
in words, each boy kept thinking of the past quarrel, and rejoicing at
its end, while he looked forward to days of enjoyment in companionship
such as had gone before.
The star--one of those in the Great Bear--did them good stead, for it
was easy to follow; and saving that they were always within an ace of
going through, they skimmed on in safety.
From time to time they glanced back to see the glare of the fire dying
out to such an extent that when they were well in sight of the light at
the landing-place which they felt convinced Hickathrift was showing, the
last sign had died out, and just then a loud crack made them forget it.
"Don't seem to be freezing so hard, does it?" said Tom.
"Oh, yes, I think so; only we must be going over ice we cracked before.
Now, then, let's put on all the speed we can, and go right in to where
the light is with a rush."
Tom answered to his companion's call by taking stroke for stroke, and
away they went quicker than ever. The ice bent and swayed and cracked,
and literally hissed as they sped on, with the white powder flying as it
was struck off. The metallic ring sounded louder, and the splitting
more intense; but still they passed on in safety till they were within
one hundred yards of where the wheelwright was waiting, when there was a
sharp report as loud as that of a gun, a crack, and there were no
skaters on the surface, only a quantity of broken ice in so much black
water, and directly after a loud yell rose from the shore.
"Now, Jacob, out with it!" came in stentorian tones; and then there was
a cracking sound, a great deal of splashing, and the punt was partly
slid along the ice, partly used to break it up, by the two men who waded
by its side, and finally got it right upon the ice and thrust along till
it was close to the place where the lads had broken in.
"Now, then, where are you?" shouted Hickathrift as he peered around.
"Here we are, all right, only so precious cold!" cried Dick. "It isn't
very deep here; only up to your chest."
"It's up to my chin," cried Tom with a shiver, "and I'm holding on by
the ice."
Hickathrift did not hesitate, but waded towards him, breaking opposing
sheets of ice with a thump of his fist, and at last, with some little
difficulty, all got ashore.
"Theer, both of you, run for it to the Toft and get to bed. The missus
knows what to do better than I can tell her. Nivver mind your pattens."
If they had stopped to get them off it would have been a terribly long
job with their rapidly-numbing hands, so they did not pause, but
scuffled over the ground in the best way they could to the house, where
hot beds and a peculiar decoction Mrs Winthorpe prepared had a double
property, for it sent them into a perspiration and off to sleep, one of
the labourers bearing the news to Grimsey that the heir to the house of
Tallington would not return that night, consequent upon having become
"straange and wet."
The next morning the boys came down to breakfast none the worse for
their wetting, to find that Mr Marston was already there looking very
serious.
He had been told of the burning-out of poor Dave, and he had other news
of his own, that three of the cottages had been fired during the past
night.
"And the peculiar part of the business is," said Mr Marston, "that big
Bargle saw the person who fired the last of the houses."
The engineer looked at Dick as he spoke.
"Why didn't he catch him then?" said Dick sharply, for Mr Marston's
look annoyed him; "he is big enough."
"Don't speak pertly, Dick!" said his father sternly.
"It was because he is so big that he did not catch him, Richard
Winthorpe," said the engineer coldly. "The ice bore the person who
fired the places, because he was skating."
"Skating!" cried Dick, flushing up.
"Yes, skating!" said Mr Marston. "Bargle says that the man hobbled
over the ground in his skates, but as soon as he reached the ice he went
off like a bird. The ice cracked and splintered, but it seemed to bear
him, and in less than a minute he was out of sight, but Bargle could
hear him for a long time."
"Well, it wasn't me, Mr Marston," said Tom, laughing. "I was skating
along with Dick, but it was neither of us. We went to another fire."
"Breakfast is getting cold," said Mrs Winthorpe, who looked troubled,
for the squire was frowning, and Dick turning pale and red by turns.
"Look here," said the squire suddenly; "I cannot, and I will not, have
unpleasantness of this kind in my house. I must speak plainly, Marston.
You suspect my boy of firing your men's huts last night?"
"I am very sorry, Mr Winthorpe, and I do it unwillingly, but
appearances are very much against him."
"They are," said the squire gravely.
"I like Dick; I always did like Dick," said the engineer; "and it seems
to me horrible to have to suspect such a lad as he is; but put yourself
in my place, Mr Winthorpe. Can you be surprised?"
"I am not surprised, Mr Marston," said Mrs Winthorpe, rising and going
to her son's side. "Dick was out last night skating with Tom here over
the thin ice, and of course it must have been a very light person to
cross last night in skates; but you are mistaken. My boy would not
commit such a cowardly crime."
The moment before, Dick, who was half-stunned by the accusation, and
ready to give up in despair, leaped to his feet and flung his arms about
his mother's waist. His eyes flashed and the colour flushed right up
into his brows as he kissed her passionately again and again.
"You are right," said the squire. "But speak out, Dick. You did not do
this dastardly thing?"
"No, father," said Dick, meeting his eyes boldly. "I couldn't."
"There, Marston," said the squire; "and I will not insult Tom Tallington
by accusing him."
"Oh, no, father! we were together all the time."
"But I say," cried Tom, "old Dave said it was a chap in skates who set
fire to his place, and he couldn't follow him over the ice."
"Yes; I'd forgotten," cried Dick, "and he shot at him."
"Then I am wrong once more, Dick," said Mr Marston. "I beg your
pardon. Will you forgive me?"
"Of course I will, Mr Marston," said Dick huskily, as he took the
extended hand; "but I don't think you ought to be so ready to think ill
of me."
"And I say the same, Mr Marston," said Mrs Winthorpe. "My boy is
wilful, and he may have been a bit mischievous, but he could not be
guilty of such cowardly tricks as these."
"No," said Tom, with his mouth full of pork-pie; "of course he could
not. Dick isn't a coward!"
"I humbly apologise, Mrs Winthorpe," said Marston, smiling, "and you
must forgive me. A man who has been shot at has his temper spoiled."
"Say no more, Marston, my lad," said the squire warmly; "we all forgive
you, and--breakfast waits."
The subject was hurriedly changed, Dick being after all able to make a
good meal, during which he thought of the past, and of how glad he was
to be friends with Tom Tallington again; and then, as he had his second
help of pie to Tom's third, it seemed to him that the same person must
be guilty of all these outrages, and if so it could not by any
possibility be Farmer Tallington, for he never skated, and even if he
could, he weighed at least sixteen stone, and the ice had broken under
the weight of Tom's seven or eight.
"We shall find him yet, Marston; never fear," said the squire; "and when
we do--well, I shall be sorry for the man."
"Why?" said Mrs Winthorpe.
"Because," said the squire gravely, "I have been so near death myself
that--there, this is not a pleasant subject to talk about. We will
wait."