It was an ideal skating rink, and the particular overflow of spirits on that evening was due to the agreement that it was to be devoted to the exhilarating amusement.

“We will leave the house at 8 o’clock,” said Fred at the supper table, “and skate to the mouth of Wild Man’s Creek and back.”

“How far is that?” inquired Monteith Sterry.

“About ten miles.”

Pretty Jennie’s face took on a contemptuous expression.

“Not a bit more; we shall be only fairly started when we must turn back.”

“Well, where do you want to go, sister?”

“We shouldn’t think of stopping until we reach Wolf Glen.”

“And may I inquire the distance to that spot?” asked Sterry again.

“Barely five miles beyond Wild Man’s Creek,” said she.

Those were not the young men to take a “dare” from a girl like her.  It will be admitted that thirty miles is a pretty good spurt for a skater, but the conditions could not have been more favourable.

“It’s agreed, then,” remarked Sterry, “that we will go to Wolf Glen, and then, and then—­”

“And then what?” demanded Jennie, turning toward him.

“Why not keep on to Boston and call on my folks?”

“If you will furnish the ice we will do so.”

“I couldn’t guarantee ice all the way, but we can travel by other means between the points, using our skates as the chance offers.”

“Or do as that explorer who is to set out in search of the north pole—­have a combination skate and boat, so when fairly going we can keep straight on.”

“I will consent to that arrangement on one condition,” interposed the mother, so seriously that all eyes were turned wonderingly upon her.

“What is that?”

“That you return before the morrow.”

The countenances became grave, and turning to Sterry, on her right, Jennie asked, in a low voice: 

“Is it safe to promise that?”

“Hardly.  Let us leave the scheme until we have time in which fully to consider it.”

“You will start, as I understand, at eight,” remarked the mother, speaking now in earnest.  “You can readily reach Wolf Glen within a couple of hours.  There you will rest a while and return as you choose.  So I will expect you at midnight.”

“Unless something happens to prevent.”

The words of Monteith Sterry were uttered jestingly, but they caused a pang to the affectionate parent as she asked: 

“What could happen, Monteith?”

Fred took it upon himself to reply promptly: 

“Nothing at all.”

“Is the ice firm and strong?”

“It will bear a locomotive; I never saw it finer; the winter has not been so severe as some we have known, but it has got there all the same; Maine can furnish the Union with all the ice she will want next summer.”

“There may be air-holes.”

“None that we cannot see; they are few and do not amount to anything.”