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 a