of the boat-house. Overhead the winter sky
was leaden and sullen clouds were driving southward. Underfoot the ice
rang hard as steel, and, save for a space in mid-river, was as smooth as
a mirror. It was well on toward four o'clock and already the shadows
along the banks hinted of coming night. Hammond and Ferry Hill were
hobnobbing about the boat-house stove or out on the ice in front of the
landing. The terms of the race had been arranged and the big,
yellow-haired Schonberg was idly cutting figures in and out of the group
to keep himself warm. The race was to be a half-mile long, starting here
at the Ferry Hill landing, crossing straight as a strip of weak ice
would permit to a point on the Hammond side of the river and returning
again to the landing, finishing at a mark indicated by an empty nail keg
and a broken soap box set some twenty yards from shore. All that
remained of the preliminaries was for Ferry Hill to produce her entry.
Mr. Cobb, who was to act as starter, timer, judge and everything else of
an official sort, looked at his watch and announced that it was time to
start. Schonberg stopped his capers, removed his sweater and skated to
the mark, looking about with pardonable curiosity for a sight of his
adversary. Horace and Harry emerged from the throng and joined him.

"This is Mr. Schonberg, Harry," said Horace. "Schonberg, my cousin, Miss
Emery."

Harry bowed gravely in her best society manner and Schonberg made a
futile grab at his knit cap.

"Happy to meet you," he muttered. Then, possibly for want of something
better to say, he turned to Horace and asked:

"When are you chaps going to be ready?"

"We're ready now," answered Horace soberly. Schonberg looked about him.
The crowd had surrounded the mark by this time and Mr. Cobb had his
watch in hand.

"Where's your man, Burlen?" asked Custis, Hammond's senior class
president.

"Right here," answered Horace, indicating Harry. "Miss Emery is our
man."

Hammond howled with laughter. Harry's cheeks reddened and her eyes
flashed.

"You're joking, aren't you?" asked Custis.

"Not at all," replied Horace impatiently.

"But, I say, Burlen, that's poppycock, you know! We didn't challenge a
girl's school!"

"That's all right," said Burlen. "We said we'd race you, and we will.
Miss Emery is Doctor Emery's daughter and she belongs to the school just
as much as any of us. If you're afraid to race her--"

"Don't be a fool! Of course we're not afr