ANOTHER RACE
Although Margy refused to be enthusiastic about cold weather, nothing
would induce her to miss a skating party. She could skate well, as
indeed could nearly every child in River Bend. With a river at hand,
it would have been strange if they had failed to learn as soon as they
could buckle on their skates. The Riddle Club members could hardly
remember the time when they had not gone skating.
“Wouldn’t it have been a shame,” said Fred, striking off up the ice
with long, even swings, “if the first skating of the year had come
while we had to go to school?”
“Yes, it would,” agreed Ward. “I think they ought to cut out school in
the winter, anyway. I don’t mind it so much in March, because half the
time it rains and you can’t have much fun in the rain; but winter is
the best time of year to be outdoors.”
Ward looked as though he was thoroughly enjoying himself. He was
puffing slightly--he couldn’t help getting out of breath when he
exercised--but his eyes were beaming and he showed his even, white
teeth in a delighted grin.
“I don’t think it’s as cold as it was,” said Jess to Polly.
“That’s because you’ve warmed up,” declared Polly wisely. “I’m never
cold when I’m skating.”
“Just the same, it is warmer,” insisted Jess.
“Sure it is,” Fred flung over his shoulder. “It’s turned warmer since
we came out.”
Though Polly had announced that they were going up to the pond, they
did not start right away. The river was fairly well covered with
skaters by this time, and presently a string of skaters appeared, seven
boys and seven girls, each wearing a white woolly sweater with a large
“C.C.” stitched across the front.
“Look at the Conundrum Club!” cried Polly. “They have sweaters just
alike. Do you suppose they’re Christmas presents?”
The sweaters were Christmas gifts. Carrie herself told Polly, when she
skated up a few minutes later and asked to see the Riddle Club rings.
“How did you know we had rings?” Polly asked, surprised.
“Oh, some girl told me,” said Carrie. “I suppose they’re plated. But
the monogram is kind of nice, only I think signet rings are rather old
fashioned, don’t you?”
Polly wanted to laugh, for Carrie was trying the ring on as she spoke.
Carrie seldom praised another’s possessions, but it was easy to see
that she admired the new ring.
“I say, Fred,” called Joe Anderson, skating up, “let’s have a race. Bet
you I can beat you to the bend and back.”
Margy pulled violently on Fred’s sweater.
“Don’t do it,” she whispered. “He cheats! Remember the time you
coasted?”
Fred did remember, but a challenge was a challenge.
“All right, I’ll race you,” he said shortly.
“Why don’t we all race?” asked Carrie, shrilly. “Let’s make it a
Conundrum Club against the Riddle Club race.”
“Go on--that will be fun!” cried some of the other boys and girls
skating about the circle. “And the winners have to race again.”
That was the way it was finally decided--that six of the Conundrum Club
members should race the members of the Riddle Club. Joe Anderson chose
the ones he wanted to represent the Conundrum Club--besides himself and
Carrie, there were Mattie Helms, Albert Holmes, Ben Asher and Stella
Dorman.
“We’ll line up and start when Edith counts three,” said Joe, who,
having planned the race, did not seem to think he was obliged, as a
matter of courtesy, to consult the wishes of any one else.
Edith Spencer was a member of the Conundrum Club. She was a girl who
easily became excited, and the first time she tried to count three she
stuttered so badly that no one could tell what she was trying to say.
The second time she did better and at the word “Three!” the skaters
dashed off, Joe Anderson in the lead.
“I wish I was bigger!” thought Artie, skating bravely. “I’d like to
win--but just the same if I can’t beat that Albert Holmes, I’d like to
know the reason!”
The bend in the river had been designated as the turning point, and Joe
Anderson reached it first, with Fred close behind him. Fred was saving
his speed for the spurt he wanted to make on the return way. Polly was
ahead of Carrie and Mattie had just passed Margy when Jess stumbled and
fell.
“Don’t stop!” she cried, as Ward and Artie came up with her. “Go on!
Hurry!”
But Ward and Artie pulled her to her feet, and then the three tried
desperately to regain the ground lost. It was too much of a handicap,
however, and Albert Holmes and Ben Asher both came in ahead of Artie,
who had set his heart on beating Albert.
It was almost a tie between Fred and Joe, and Polly was a half yard
ahead of Carrie, so another race was planned between these four.
Fred had a plan all his own which he hoped would work. He had carefully
refrained from fast skating in the first race, being contented to keep
up with Joe. He knew that the second race would be harder, because he
would not be as fresh. This time he was determined to skate at top
speed.
At the signal they started, Polly in the lead. A flash passed her; it
was Fred, head bent, eyes on his skates. Try as he would, Joe could not
pass him, and Fred held his lead to the bend and back to the starting
point, winning by a good yard.
“Well, anyway, Carrie beat Polly,” said Stella Dorman, as Carrie shot
in ahead of Polly, who had lost time in making the turn. “No one can
say the Riddle Club skaters are better than we are.”
Fred was satisfied to have it that way.
“Come on, we’re going somewhere,” he said, beckoning to his chums.
“Race you again some time, Joe.”
The Riddle Club waved good-bye and went on up the river. They skated
more slowly now, for they were just a little tired from the excitement
and the fast skating. Polly’s cheeks were crimson and Ward was panting.
“Let’s sit down a minute,” suggested Jess. “I want to see if I skinned
my knee when I fell down.”
They skated into the shore and sat down on the bank. Jess discovered
that her knee was not badly hurt, after all, and Ward was grateful for
the rest.
“Looks like more snow,” said Fred, pointing to the sky, now gray and
overcast.
“Why can’t you be cheerful?” scolded Margy. “We’ve had all the snow we
want for a long time. It’s going to be clear weather--the paper said
so,” and Margy looked triumphantly at her brother.
“You have to take the kind of weather you get,” said Artie, sagely. “It
doesn’t make any difference what you want.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s going to snow,” announced Polly, rising.
“Come on--if we’re going to Jackson’s Pond, we’d better get there. We
haven’t reached the fork, yet.”
[Illustration: FRED HELD HIS LEAD, WINNING BY A YARD.]
To reach the pond, it was necessary to skate to a point where the
river forked. Two miles up this arm, one came to Jackson’s Pond, a
place much used for picnics in summer and the scene of evening skating
parties in the winter. It had long been an ambition of Fred’s to skate
all the way to this pond, because he had always gone by automobile
before.
The children skated steadily and soon reached the fork where they
turned into the narrow “arm” that lay through a rather desolate
country. There were no houses to be seen, but here and there smoke
drifted from a chimney and indicated the presence of a farm.
“I wouldn’t like to live up here, would you?” said Artie.
“No, River Bend is much nicer,” agreed Jess.
“Still, we could skate to school if we lived here,” suggested Polly.
“That must be the schoolhouse over there.”
She pointed to a small building set in a fenced yard. There was a flag
pole, but no flag was flying.
“Closed for the holidays,” commented Fred. “There! Who said it wasn’t
going to snow?” he added triumphantly.
A stinging wet flake struck Margy’s upturned face.
“It’s just a flurry,” she said comfortably.
“Perhaps we’d better turn around and go back,” said Polly. “We’ll be
skating against the wind, anyway, and it will take us longer to get
home than it has to come.”
“Oh, come on, we want to be able to say we’ve skated as far as the
pond,” urged Fred. “You’re not afraid of a little snow, are you, Polly?”
“No, I’m not, but I don’t want to be caught in a big storm, miles away
from any house,” said Polly, sensibly.
“This won’t be a big storm,” declared Artie.
But the snow continued to come faster and the wind rose, growling.
“I wonder if it’s late?” said Margy, suddenly.
“No, it can’t be,” answered Fred. “We started right after lunch, and it
was only half-past twelve.”
A sudden gust of wind struck Margy sharply in the face.
“It’s so dark!” she gasped, swallowing a mouthful of snow.
And it was dark. The clouds were heavy and they seemed so near that
Jess was sure she could touch them. The wind had risen steadily, and
as the six children rounded a bend in the stream, it caught them full
force.
“I can’t breathe!” screamed Jess, in a sudden panic.
“Turn around!” shouted Fred.
They turned their backs to the storm and waited a moment.
“There’s no use trying to go back,” cried Fred to Polly, as another
gust of wind swooped upon them. “It’s blowing from all directions at
once. We’d better try to get in somewhere.”
“Is it a blizzard?” asked Jess.
“It’s a storm,” said Fred, trying to speak cheerfully. “Come on, we’ll
take off our skates and walk. There’s no use trying to skate in a wind
like this.”
They managed to get their skates off, and then climbed the low bank.
“We’ll follow the river,” Fred decided, “because if we get back in the
country we might get lost.”
Fred was a very comforting person to have around when things didn’t
go right, Polly thought, trudging after him. He could always think of
something to do, and his plans were usually good. Instead of being
undecided, or standing around in the teeth of the wind while he thought
of what they should do, he kept them moving, and moving was so much
better than standing still. You felt as though you were going toward
help, at least.
“Do you see anything over there, Ward?” Fred shouted, suddenly,
breaking in on Polly’s thoughts.
“Where?” cried Ward, peering through the whirling film of snow.
“There--across the river,” answered Fred, pointing.
Ward stared. Yes, the dim outlines of a building certainly could be
seen.
“It’s a house!” shouted Fred. “We’ll have to cross over.”
“I hope they have some kind of a fire. I’m almost frozen stiff!”
muttered Margy.