Even Lambert and Ben, who had been waiting at the street corner, began to grow impatient.

The captain joined them at last and they were soon on the canal with the rest.

"Hurry up, Peter," growled Ludwig. "We're freezing by inches--there! I knew you'd be the last after all to get on your skates."

"Did you?" said his brother, looking up with an air of deep interest. "Clever boy!"

Ludwig laughed but tried to look cross, as he said, "I'm in earnest. We must get home sometime this year."

"Now, boys," cried Peter, springing up as he fastened the last buckle. "There's a clear way before us! We will imagine it's the grand race. Ready! One, two, three, start!"

I assure you that very little was said for the first half hour. They were six Mercuries skimming the ice. In plain English, they were lightning. No--that is imaginary too. The fact is, one cannot decide what to say when half a dozen boys are whizzing past at such a rate. I can only tell you that each did his best, flying, with bent body and eager eyes, in and out among the placid skates on the canal, until the very guard shouted to them to "Hold up!" This only served to send them onward with a two-boy power that startled all beholders.