just arrived. Would Miss Jessie not come up the river a little way
with him? She glanced across the pond. The boys were still struggling
manfully with their wobbling burden. They could not be back for some
time, she reflected. Don would never know if she took just one little
skate up to the school house and back. She gave the minister her hand
and they glided up the winding silvery track to where the moonlight was
hidden by the towering river banks.

Meanwhile, Wee Andra, goaded to desperation by his absolute lack of
success and the facetious remarks which were rendering his guides weak
and incompetent, resolved to give up the hopeless struggle. He shoved
aside his supporting comrades fiercely, and came down upon the ice with
a crash that seemed as if he had decided to end his tortures
Samson-like and die with his tormentors. But fortunately the ice held.

He tore off his skates, and, hurling them in the direction whence had
arisen most of the remarks upon his uncertain locomotion, leaped up and
charged headlong into the ranks of the enemy.

Very much relieved, Donald skated back eagerly to Jessie. When he
reached the spot where he had left her, he saw her disappearing with
his rival up the glittering pathway. Donald's face grew dark with
anger. He was too indignant to consider that he had returned much
sooner than she expected. He realised only that she had left him on
this his last night, and for that fellow! He turned with a fierce
jerk, and almost skated into Maggie. That young lady was darting
wildly here and there in her efforts to elude Syl Todd. Whatever
trouble Syl might have with his head, he was the perfection of
nimbleness with his feet, and Maggie was almost cornered. She clutched
Donald's arm.

"Oh, Don," she cried, "get me out o' this. That crazy little mosquito
is after me again!"

Glad of an excuse for swift motion, Donald caught her hands and swept
her forward with a force that made her gasp. Away they spun in a mad
race up the river, Maggie propelled by the impulse of a wild glee,
Donald by the anger that was consuming him. Neither had any thought of
the direction they were taking, neither dreamed that their winged
flight was to be a race with death.

A few moments earlier Jessie had declared that they must turn back.
They had gone farther up the river than they had ever ventured before,
and she was troubled at the thought that Donald might be waiting. John
Egerton felt chag