his head over his shoulder
to talk to him. Ernest came gliding smoothly on. "Skurry, skurry,
skurry; clatter, clatter; _ez-z-ez_," came Frank. I cannot better
describe the noise made by his skates. Utter fearlessness was evidently
the secret of his power. On he came, as little fatigued, in spite of
all his exertions, as when he started.

"Heave-to, old fellow, I say; heave-to! Give us a tow, then, for I see
how it is; you intend to keep ahead, though how you do it I can't tell,"
he continued to cry out as he approached the end of the pond, where
Buttar and the rest stood ready to receive them. Ernest, as might be
supposed, came in first, and gracefully wheeled round after he had
touched Buttar's hand. On came Frank, hurrahing and shouting, "Second
in, at all events." Touching Buttar's hand, on he went. Was the bank
to stop him? Not it. Up it he went, across the gravel walk, through
the bushes, and down a bank into a meadow below, where was another piece
of water, across which he shot, and then over another walk into the long
canal pond, down which he went, shouting and laughing louder than ever.

"Our race is to the end of the ponds, Ernest, remember that. Ponds, old
fellow! why don't you come on?"

Tom Bouldon, delighted, went after him, as did two or three other boys
from the neighbourhood who were not skating; but Ernest was afraid of
spoiling his skates, by giving them such rough usage, and left Frank to
enjoy his fun, and to boast that he had beaten him in the long run. It
was some time before Frank returned, his exploit causing a great deal of
amusement to all present. Some time before this a fire, with a large
screen of matting to keep off the wind, had been seen to blaze up, and
now a horn sounding, the party on the ice assembled round it. They
found servants roasting potatoes under the ashes, which were served out
with plates of salt, and butter, and toast, to all who asked for them,
while at the same time hot punch was handed about to the visitors.

"Capital stuff this!" cried Tom Bouldon, smacking his lips, after he had
quaffed a glass of it, and, turning to Buttar, "I wish that the Doctor
would provide us with something of the sort in an afternoon in cold
weather. It's warm lemonade, with a little wine in it, I suspect. I'll
take another glass of it, if you please."

Of course the servants handed Tom as many glasses as he asked for.
Buttar took two or three. Away they skated. At firs