like the ill wind that nevertheless blows some good, the thaw, although spoiling the coasting, opened the way for two weeks of the finest skating that beaufort had ever known. the snow had become water, but the water now became ice.

for in the north winter heard how his sovereignty was thus being intruded upon by an o’er-anxious spring, and in haste dispatched to the scene general bitter-cold. with his force general bitter-cold arrived, amid a flourish of trumpets, late one night. so well did he work that by morning beaufort and the country round-about was winter’s again.

he sealed each pond and stream with the seal of empire, and then proceeded to fetter anew the mighty river.

beaufort had a system of weather flags; and when, for some hours preceding general bitter-cold’s arrival, the cold-wave signal was flown from the staff upon the town hall cupola, it was received by ned and his cronies, save bob, with much delight. bob, being rather thin-skinned, much preferred spring, no matter how early it might come.

but with no snow left, and with the streets mud and water, ned decided that almost anything would be welcome.

“the paper says that the temperature will fall forty degrees by morning,” announced mr. miller, at supper.

“won’t that be fine, though!” asserted ned.

“it won’t be very fine for the poor people, however,” suggested mrs. miller.

ned tried to look solemn, but the picture of the skating quite blotted out that of the poor.

that night, as he sunk his cheek into his pillow, about to go to sleep, he heard old boreas sound a fanfare down the flue; and he chuckled and blissfully cuddled into a ball.

in the barn loft bob, at the end of his burrow amid the hay, raised his head for a moment, inquiringly; then, with a shiver instead of a chuckle, he, also, cuddled closer.

the next morning ned was detailed to sprinkle ashes and sawdust upon the various walks and paths belonging to the premises, so that the other members of the household might venture out with safety. for himself he left a narrow strip, leading from back stoop to barn, unsprinkled; it was his private slide, and was a constant peril to other back-yard visitors, notably maggie and bob.

there was now excellent skating on the flats, where several large ponds had been formed and had readily frozen over. but the river yielded more slowly. however, the zero weather was genuine, and had come to stay a while. grimly general bitter-cold did his work, day by day and night by night building from either bank out toward midstream, until finally a juncture had been made and over the channel itself had been spread a crust of crystal.

so quickly this crust deepened and toughened, that soon an ice bridge had been staked out, and teams were crossing from shore to shore.

the work of freezing had been done very quietly. on this account the mississippi was now like glass. all beaufort went skating. the field was unlimited, save as in the swiftest parts of the current the water continued to show, sullen and black.

“we’re going to skate down to newton next saturday,” declared ned, confidently.

“it’s good of you to tell us,” remarked his father, mildly.

ned was puzzled. he was not exactly sure what the tone of voice meant.

“well, can’t i?” he inquired.

“that is a problem,” replied his father, bent upon teasing. “but i should think that a boy who not an hour ago declared himself unequal to the task of filling up two coal stoves might find considerable difficulty.”

“oh, pshaw!” pouted ned, the hit telling. “i mean, may i?”

“just as your mother says,” answered his father. “we’ll leave it to her.”

ned’s face did not express any great joy over this condition upon his going. he knew so well what an amount of convincing his mother, always timid, winter or summer, about the river, would take. nevertheless, he went boldly at his task.

“may i, mother?” he appealed to mrs. miller, who had been listening with a smile on her face.

“oh, neddie! i don’t believe the ice is safe!” she said.

“pooh!” scoffed ned. “it’s more than two feet thick, right in the channel. you just ought to see the big chunks they’re cutting out for next summer.”

“but newton’s so far,” objected his mother. “you wouldn’t get back until long after dark.”

“why, mother!” exclaimed ned, quite out of patience. “it’s only fourteen miles and we can skate that in an hour and a half easy.”

“i’m so afraid you’ll run into an air-hole, or something, neddie,” pleaded his mother, unwilling to pull down her flag.

“there isn’t a bit of danger,” assured ned, eagerly. “lots of the fellows have been down and back, and there’s a regular path.”

“who, for instance?” suddenly chipped in his father. “‘lots of fellows,’ i find, is sometimes rather indefinite.”

“lou ravens and ‘duke’ burke did it just the other afternoon,” promptly responded ned.

“still, since they are not centipedes it takes more than two boys to make a path, you know, ned,” said his father, drily.

“but we could follow their skate marks—really we could, father,” cried ned. “may i go, mother?”

“what do you say, will?” asked mrs. miller, seeking refuge in her husband.

“now that isn’t fair,” cried ned. “father said he’d leave it to you. may i? it’s just as safe as our back yard.”

“you’ll be very, very careful, and watch out for air-holes?” asked his mother.

“yes, i will,” promised ned.

“and be home before dark?”

“yes, ma’am.”

“and not take any risks?”

“no, ma’am.”