"Hurrah, the Black Pond is frozen! The ice is more than an inch thick,
and there's a crowd of boys down there!" shouted one of Viggo's
classmates one morning, as he thrust his frost-covered head through the
door and swung his skates. It didn't take Viggo long before he got his
skates down from the nail, and ran off with his friend. And he was so
anxious to get down to the lake that he forgot to whistle for Allarm.
But Allarm had a fine nose. Just as soon as he had swallowed his
breakfast he understood that Viggo was gone. Then he ran out hunting
through the yard for Viggo's trail, and when he noticed that it didn't
lead to the school he knew he might follow. Then he rushed madly after
him over the fields, and had caught up with him long before Viggo had
reached the cottage of Hans the Grenadier, which lay close by the lake.
One thing Viggo had promised his father before he got permission to go,
and that was that he would be very careful and not skate far out from
the shore. Near the middle of the lake there was an air hole through
which warm air rose to the surface, and there the ice was never thick.
And Viggo meant honestly to do what his father had told him, but now you
shall hear what happened.
When he came to the lake there was a crowd of boys there. There must
have been twenty or more. Most of them had skates on, but some only slid
on the ice. They shouted and laughed so that you could not hear yourself
think.
As soon as Viggo had put on his skates he began to look around. Most of
the boys he knew, for he had raced with them before, and he felt that
he could beat every one of them. But there was one boy who skated by
himself, and seemed not to care about the others. He was much bigger
than Viggo, and Viggo saw immediately that it would not be easy to beat
him in a race. The boys called him Peter Lightfoot, and the name fitted
him. He could do the corkscrew, skate backward as easily as forward, and
lie so low and near the ice that he might have kissed it. But all this
Viggo could do, too.
"Can you write your initials?" asked Viggo. Yes; Peter Lightfoot stood
on one leg and wrote "P. L." in the ice, but the letters hung together.
Then Viggo started. He ran, turned himself around backward and wrote "P.
L.," and between the "P." and the "L." he made a short jump so that the
letters stood apart.
"Hurrah for Viggo! He wrote Peter Lightfoot backward!" shouted the boys,
and threw up their caps. Then the big boy blushed crimson, but he said
nothing.
Now they began to play "Fox and Geese," and everybody wanted Viggo to be
the fox. Peter wanted to play, too, for he was sure that Viggo could not
catch him. The race-course was scratched in the ice, and Viggo called,
"Out, out, my geese," and off they ran. But Viggo didn't care to run
after the little goslings, it was the big gander, Peter Lightfoot, he
wished to catch. And that was a game!
Off they went, Peter in front and Viggo after him, back and forth in
corners and circles, and all the other boys stopped and looked on. Every
time Viggo was right at his heels, Peter jumped and was far ahead of the
fox again. At last Viggo had him cornered, but just as he would have
caught the goose, Peter stretched out his left leg and meant to trip
Viggo, but his skate caught in a frozen twig and--thump! there lay Peter
Lightfoot, the ice cracking all around him.
"A good thing he wasn't made of glass," laughed the boys and crowded
around Peter. He got up and looked angrily around the circle of boys.
"Now stand in a row, we'll jump," said he, and the boys did. They piled
hats and caps on top of each other first only three high. The whole row
jumped that, then four, then five, then six, but each time fewer got
over and those who pushed the top cap off with their skates had to stop
playing and must stand aside and look on. At last there were eight hats
and caps on top of each other, and now only Peter and Viggo were left to
jump.
"Put your cap on top!" said Peter, and Viggo did. But all the boys
shouted that no one could ever make that jump.
Now, Peter came so fast that the air whistled about him, jumped--and
whiff! he was over! He touched Viggo's cap the least little bit, but it
did not fall off the pile.
"Hurrah for Peter! That was a masterly jump!" shouted the boys. "Viggo
can never do that, he is too small," said one.
Viggo knew this was the test, and his heart beat fast. He ran with all
his might. Viggo flew over like a bird, and there was at least four
inches between his skates and the topmost cap. Then the boys crowded
around him and shouted that Viggo was the champion. But Peter Lightfoot
looked at him with a sly and evil eye, and you could see he was planning
to play a trick on him. And, indeed, that's what he did.
After a little while Peter took an apple out of his pocket and rolled it
over the ice toward the airhole. "The one who dares to go for the apple
may keep it!" he called. And many dared to try that, for the apple had
not rolled far and the ice was strong enough. Now Peter threw an apple
farther out, someone got that too. But at last he rolled one that
stopped right on the edge of the open water. One boy after the other ran
out toward it, but when the ice began to crack they slowly turned around
again.
"Don't do it, it is dangerous!" shouted Viggo.
"Oh, yes, Viggo is great when things are easy, but if there is danger he
turns pale as a ghost," said Peter, and laughed aloud.
This was more than Viggo could bear. He thought of what the Prince of
Augustenburg had said before the front, and he thought he must fetch the
apple, come what might. But he forgot that "retreat" had been called,
for his father had forbidden him to go near the hole. Allarm looked at
him with grave eyes and wagged his tail slowly; he did not dare to
whine. But that did not help. Viggo ran so that the wind whistled about
his ears. The ice bent under his feet and cracked, but he glided on and
on, and the ice did not break. Now he was close by the apple; he bent
down to pick it up--crash! The ice broke, and Viggo, head first, fell
in.
In a minute his head appeared above the hole. He swam for the ice and
seized the edge, but a piece broke off every time he tried to climb up.
At first the boys stood there dumb with fright. Then they all called to
him that he must try to hold on, but no one dared to help him, and no
one thought of running for help. Peter Lightfoot had sneaked away when
Viggo fell in.
The best one of them all was Allarm. First he ran yelping around the
hole, but when he saw Viggo appear again he snatched his wet cap between
his teeth and as fast as an arrow he ran toward home. When he reached
the cottage of Hans the Grenadier the old soldier was just standing in
the open doorway. The dog put Viggo's stiff frozen cap at his feet,
whined and cried, jumped up on the old man, held on to his coat and
dragged him toward the ice. Hans understood right away what was the
matter, snatched a rope and ran toward the lake, and in no time he stood
by the hole. He threw the rope to Viggo, who had begun to grow stiff
from the icy bath, and pulled him out.
Viggo ran as fast as he could to the cottage of Hans, and when he
reached the door he had an armor of shining ice over his whole body.
When the Grenadier pulled off the boy's trousers they could stand by
themselves on the floor; they were frozen stiff.
Viggo, of course, had to change from top to toe, and what should he put
on? Hans went to his old chest and came back with his uniform. Viggo
looked rather queer; the yellow knee-trousers reached to his ankles, and
the red coat with yellow cuffs and lapels hung on him like a bag.
But he was wearing a real uniform! Hans looked at him.
"Well," he said, "I won't say much about the fit of the clothes, but who
knows you may wear a better looking uniform some day. The heart is of
the right kind, and the nose--well it is doing better."
[L] From "The Bird and the Star," translated by Mrs. Gudrun
Thorne-Thompson; used by special arrangement with the publishers, Row,
Peterson & Co.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: STORIES FROM IRELAND]