Friday afternoon there was an even larger attendance.

Gaylor’s Cove was about half a mile long, with an average width of a quarter of a mile.  At the middle the cove was open for a long way upon the river.

At some points on the river proper the ice was strong enough to bear.  Near Gaylor’s Cove, however, the river current was so swift that the river ice at this point looked thin and treacherous.  No one ventured out on the ice just beyond the cove.

Friday night many a High School boy and girl studied the sky.  There was no sign of storm, nor did the conditions seem to threaten a thaw.  Saturday morning was cold and clear.  The temperature, at noon, was just above freezing point, though not enough so to bring about a “thaw” in the ice.

By one o’clock Saturday afternoon Gaylor’s Cove was a scene of great activity.  Two thirds of the High School students were there, most of them on skates.  There were three or four hundred other youngsters, and more than a hundred grown-ups.

“All we need is the band,” laughed Dick Prescott, as he skated slowly along with Laura Bentley.

“The click-clack of the skates is enough for me,” Laura replied.

“You are not down in any of the girls’ contests, are you?” he asked.

“No; does that disappoint you, Dick?”

“N-no,” he said, slowly.  “Still, it’s fine to see every event all but crowded.”

“In how many events are you entered?” asked the girl.

“Only one, the freshman’s mile.  That will be swift work, and there are two turns, the way the course is to be laid out.”

“Why didn’t you enter more of the freshman events?” Laura asked.

“Well, it will take a lot of good wind to keep going at a swift pace for a mile.  I want to save all my strength and wind for that one event.”

“What is the prize in the freshman’s mile?” asked Laura, fumbling in her muff for the card of the day’s events.

“You noticed that handsome Canadian toboggan, didn’t you?”

“The one with the side hand-rails?” Laura asked, looking up brightly into his face.  “Yes; that ought to have been one of the prizes in the girls’ events.”

“Why?” queried Dick, looking a bit disconcerted.

“Why, those hand-rails are meant for timid girls to take hold of.  A boy would never want a toboggan with hand-rails.”

“Perhaps the fellow who’s going to win the freshman’s mile expects to invite some of the young ladies to go out tobogganing with him,” hinted young Prescott.

“Is it fixed who shall win that race?” demanded Laura, teasingly.

“Hardly that,” Dick rejoined, dryly.

“Then how do you know the coming owner’s intentions, if you don’t know who is going to win the race?” Miss Bentley insisted.

“Well, you see, it’s this way?” Dick admitted, “I’ve made up my mind to win that race.”

“So you regard the race as being as good as won by yourself?” smiled the physician’s daughter.