When they had leaned out and learned what B.J. invited them to, they reminded him that he was either crazy or walking in his sleep.

But B.J. answered back that they were either talking in their sleep or were “cowardy calves.”

The worst of all fools is the one that is afraid to take a dare; and the Twins were—­well, let us say they were not yet wide enough awake to know what they were doing.  At any rate, they could not stand the banter of B.J., and had soon joined him in the soaking storm outside.

When the lake was reached the Twins were more than ever convinced that B.J. was more than ever out of his head; for, instead of the smooth mirror they had been accustomed to gliding over in the boat, they found that the ice was covered with an inch of slush and water.

The sky above was not promising and blue, nor did the wind have a merry whizz; but it laughed like a maniac, and shrieked and threatened them, warning them to go back home or take most dreadful consequences.

B.J., however, would not listen to the advice they tendered him, but went busily about getting the sails up and preparing the boat for the voyage.

The Twins were still pleading with B.J. to have some regard for the dictates of common sense, when he began to haul in the sheet-rope and put the helm down; and they had barely time to leap aboard before the boat was away.

They felt, indeed, that they were sailing in a regular sloop, and that, too, going “with lee rail awash”; for instead of the soft crooning sound the runners made usually, there was a slash and a swish of ripples cloven apart; and instead of the little fountains of ice-dust which rise from the heels of the sharp shoes when the boat is skimming the frozen surface, there rose long spurting sprays of water.

The Twins reproached each other bitterly for coming on such a wild venture.  But they did not know how really sorry they were till they got well out on the lake, where the wind caught them with full force and proved to be a very gale of fury.  The mast writhed and squealed, and the sails groaned and wrenched, as if they would fairly rip the boat apart.

The world seemed one vast vortex of hurricane; and yet, for all the wind that was frightening them to death, the Twins seemed to find it impossible to get enough to breathe.  It was bitter, bitter cold, too, and Reddy’s hands and feet reminded him only of the bags of cracked ice they put on his forehead once when he had a severe fever.

B.J., however, was as happy as the Twins were miserable, and he yelled and shouted in ecstatic glee.  Now he was a gang of cow-boys at a round-up; now he was a band of Apache Indians circling fiendishly around a crew of those inland sailors who used to steer their prairie-schooners across the West.