ll ready?" asked the Chief. "Now then! one, two, three--off!"

Down swept the toboggans; down, down, down! Hildegarde was clutching Mr.
Merryweather's leather belt, and she felt as if it were the only thing
that kept her from flying off entirely. The swift motion took her
breath away; the light snow, puffing in her face, rising up in clouds on
every side, half blinded her. On and on, gliding now over the long
meadow at the foot of the hill, still with the flight of an arrow; till
at last, with a skilful turn, they were brought up alongside the stone
wall that bounded the field, and landed in a good soft drift.

Up they all jumped, rosy and snow-powdered, shouting with glee.

"Oh! wasn't it glorious!" cried Hildegarde. "We kept the lead, didn't
we, Mr. Merryweather? And I kept the top of my head on, which is more
than could have been expected. I really never felt anything so
delightful in my life. Where are Jack and Gerald?"

"There they come! They went round the other way, down the steep side."

"The steep side! Oh, me! Is there a steeper side? Why, they must have
turned somersaults all the way down. Oh! oh, my poor dears!"

The boys came round the curve in fine style, shooting straight as a
dart, both leaning back, and evidently enjoying themselves to the full.
Suddenly, as if propelled by some invisible engine, they shot into the
air, the toboggan followed, and for a moment there was an extraordinary
vision of legs and arms, caps and splinters, all whirling together. Then
they plunged into an enormous drift, and disappeared.

The girls cried out in terror, but Mr. Merryweather and Phil shouted
with laughter, and ran to the spot.

"Gone to ground!" they cried. "Dig 'em out, Phil!" cried the Chief.
"Here's a foot; give a good pull, now!"

Phil gave a vigorous pull, and was rewarded by a kick which sent him
sprawling on his back in the snow. Then, laughing and spluttering, the
boys emerged from the drift, rubbing the snow from their eyes, and
shaking it from their clothing.

"I say!" cried Jack. "What do you keep in this field, sir? Was it a
torpedo, or an electric eel?"

"It's your uncle's field, young man!" replied Mr. Merryweather. "I
suspect it was nothing more than a rock, however. I thought the hill
was all smooth grass."

"You might try it, sir!" said Gerald. "If there is a sound bone in my
body, write me down Hollander. How are you, Ferrers? Anything broken?"

"No, indeed! Lost a button, and--where