s." For a moment or two he stood
watching the thin, stooping figure sweeping up the lake; then he smiled.
"He's a queer duck," he murmured. "I should think he'd get awful tired
of just playing around with himself that way. Wish the others would
hurry up."

There were no signs of them, however, so he set himself to master an
intricate figure he had been trying for several days past. Though there
were no swimming facilities about the village, the annual flooding and
freezing over of a flat meadow on the outskirts gave the fellows a
very decent chance for skating, of which most of them had availed
themselves. Sanson was one of the most proficient in the sport and
enjoyed it thoroughly, especially now that the spacious lake gave them
so much greater scope. His runners cut the ice in sweeping, graceful
curves, and each time the momentum carried him nearer to the completion
of the figure. Once or twice he noticed Trexler up toward the outlet,
but it was in a vague sort of way, with a mind concentrated on his own
evolutions.

"It's coming all right," he said aloud, pausing for a second to get his
breath. "I've got the hang of it now. One more try and I can make it."

But Fate willed otherwise. As a matter of fact, Frank did not make that
final effort which was to bring him success. He skated over to a clear
spot on the ice and was swinging along to get up speed when a sudden
panicky cry from up the lake made him stop and whirl around with a grind
of steel runners that threw up a shower of icy particles.

Trexler was nowhere to be seen! For a fraction of a second Frank stared
open-mouthed at the bare expanse of ice narrowing to the outlet, spanned
by the old stone bridge. Then his sweeping glance paused at a dark,
irregular patch in the glistening surface where something seemed to
move feebly, and with a smothered cry he dug his skates into the ice
and sped up the lake.

[Illustration: The stick slid over the jagged edges of the hole]

The distance was not really great, but to the frightened boy it seemed
interminable. Almost at once he recognized the spot as open water in
the midst of which Trexler's white face and clawing hands striving
frantically for a hold on the treacherous, splintering edges stood out
with horrible distinctness--Trexler, who could not swim a stroke!

Frank shuddered and dug his teeth into his under lip. For the matter of
that, he himself was almost as helpless. With a sick, sinking pang it was
bo