gathering over the two chums, who seldom, or never, quarreled.

"Does Amy want to?" asked Grace, glancing at a quiet girl who was
adjusting her skates. Amy was always quiet, but of late her chums had
noted that she was more than usually so. And they guessed, rightly, that
it had to do with the mystery surrounding her identity, which mystery
Amy had almost given up hope of solving.

"Yes, I'll race," said Amy gently, and she smiled. Amy was always
willing to oblige, and she did not often consult her own personal
feelings.

Something like a look of disappointment passed over the countenance of
Grace. Seeing it Mollie laughed.

"Grace was hoping Amy would say no, so she could get out of it!" cried
vivacious Mollie. "That's the time you didn't say the right thing, Amy."

"Oh, well, if nothing but a race will satisfy you, I suppose I must,"
and Grace gave in "gracefully." "I'm nearly perished standing still,
anyhow, and skating can't make me much worse."

"It will be all the better," insisted Betty. "Now we'll race in this
fashion--team work to count. Amy and I in one team, you and Grace in the
other, Mollie. Whichever member of the team gets to the bend first will
win. You see," Betty explained, "one of a team might fall, or turn her
ankle, or get tired, and then the other could keep on. It's like a relay
race."

"Oh, well, if I have to--I suppose I have to," and Grace said this with
such a doleful sigh that the others laughed heartily, even quiet Amy
joining.

"On your marks!" cried Betty. "Let's show that we are worthy of our
names--true Outdoor Girls."

"Show who?" asked Grace looking around.

"Well, here comes your brother Will, for one, and I think Allen Washburn
and Frank Haley are with him," spoke Betty, shading her eyes with her
hands, and gazing off across the sparkling surface of the frozen Argono
River.

"Can't you see Percy Falconer?" asked Mollie mischievously, referring to
a certain foppish lad, who seemed to have a great fondness for the
Little Captain.

"If there was any snow here I'd wash your face!" cried Betty, her cheeks
flaming more than before--for, be it known, she did not reciprocate the
feeling that "burned in Percy's manly bosom," to quote the rather
jeering remarks of Grace.

"I'd rather Allen would do it," murmured Mollie. "That is, if you will
let him, Betty."

"Let him? Why shouldn't I?" demanded Betty rather sharply, but she
turned her head away, and bit her lips.

"Oh, no