“Look at this funny old pair of curly-toed skates that I found in
that funny old horse-hair trunk in the attic,” said the boy named
Billy. “They look like toys, and seem about big enough for little
sister. Nobody ever could have really used them to skate with,
could they?”
“Those skates were your great-grandmother Ellen’s racing skates,”
said Somebody, “and if they had not been rather practical and not
at all the toys they look, in comparison with the ones in use
now, you would not be here this afternoon.”
“Why?” demanded the boy named Billy, sensing a story.
“Your great-grandmother Ellen,” said Somebody, “was considered
to have been the most expert skater, the most fearless rider,
and the most popular young lady in the section of the country
where she grew up, and on the day of which I am speaking, she had
one of the most thrilling adventures ever staged anywhere, not
excepting the movies.”
[Illustration: TIMBER-WOLF!]
“A _really-so story_!” exclaimed the boy named Billy, “and in the
family, too!”
“It was many, many years ago,” said Somebody, “and happened away
up in the wilds of Maine, where your great-great-grandfather
lived with his family on the farm which he had taken away from
the forest.
“Nobody lived at the head of the lake, which was long and
narrow and more like a river in appearance, except your
great-great-grandfather and his sons and daughters; but half
way down, about ten miles, there was a small village, where the
post-office was and where the young people of the surrounding
country used to gather for their dances and good times. So one
day in winter, when great-grandmother Ellen was about seventeen
years old, she started out early to skate down to the settlement
to a party. The party proved entertaining, and also the farewells
detained her, and she was dismayed to see that just as she was
getting her last skate-strap firmly fastened, the sun was going
down behind the tall hemlock trees.
“Ten of the thirty minutes it would take her to skate home
had gone and all was well, then far behind her she heard the
long-drawn hunting call of the timber wolf.
“A few moments later, almost parallel with her, there broke
from the forest a pack of the hunger-stricken beasts. Instantly
the girl swerved in a skilful zigzag--and instantly the wolves
swerved in the same direction--their long claws slipping on the
ice as they swerved. On they came again and again. Sometimes they
were so near that their snapping jaws almost caught her skirts,
and to gain time she managed to unwind her long wool scarf,
which she allowed to float behind her, to be seized and torn to
pieces, which gave her a moment’s advantage. Then, just as she
was wondering how much longer she could go on there were shots,
and the pack scattered, leaving behind several of their number.”
“What happened?” asked the boy named Billy.
“The men, coming in from work, discovered Ellen was late, and one
remembered he heard wolves down the lake. He picked up his rifle
and skated down to meet his sister.”
“May I have these skates?” asked Billy. “I like to look at them
and remember that they belonged to a real girl. I’ll hang them on
my wall.”
“I’m sure that great-grandmother Ellen would be very happy to
have them belong to you, Billy. You’re just the kind of boy that
she would have approved of,” said Somebody.