suggested that he had gone for his skates.  ‘Good! now we’ll have some fun, boys,’ says Phil Clark, who was a good skater, and withal a good leader in a frolic.  ’You follow me and do as I tell you, and I don’t believe old “Tushy” will follow us far.’  By general consent he led them to the dry, sandy shore, and such as had them filled their handkerchiefs, and such as could not boast of that superfluity filled their caps, with sand.  ‘Now,’ says Phil, ’when he comes back, and it won’t be long, we’ll form a line and wait till he gets his skates on, when he’ll put chase for some of us.  If he gets near any of us, some one sing out “Bully,” and every boy drop his sand, and if he catches any one we’ll all pitch in.’

‘Tushy’ in a little while made his appearance, and soon had his skates strapped to his feet, and after a few stamps upon the ice, to see that they were properly secured, glided a few strokes and started off for the boys.  The moon was shining ‘as bright as day,’ and old Tushy’s movements were perfectly apparent.  The pond was huge, and afforded a good opportunity for a trial of speed, and, though many of the boys were good skaters, ‘Tushy’ perseveringly determined to capture one of them, and started for the one nearest.  This was ‘Phil,’ who was the master spirit of the frolic, and as ‘Tushy’ approached with almost the certainty of capturing him, he would glide gracefully aside and let him pass on.  He had almost caught up with a group of the smaller boys who were going at full speed, when ‘Phil’ shouted out the word ‘Bully.’  In an instant the contents of handkerchiefs and caps was deposited on the glaring ice, the boys continuing their flying course.  ‘Tushy,’ elated with the prospect of capturing at least one of the urchins, increased his speed with lunger strides, and was in the act of grasping one, when the sparks from his steel runners, the sudden arrest of his feet and the onward movement of his body, convinced him that he was caught.  The impetus he had acquired with the few last strokes on the smooth ice, and the sudden check his feet had received from the sand, sent him sliding headlong many yards towards an air-hole,—­one of those dangerous places on ponds suddenly frozen,—­and soon the ice began to crack around him.  The water in the pond was not deep, but the ice continued to break with his efforts to extricate himself.  He found that the boys had successfully entrapped him, and it was not until he had made a promise not again to interfere with their sport that they consented to assist him out.  He kept his promise, and the boys ever after, when they designed any extra sport on the ice, had his nick-name for a by-word.

    JAY G. BEE.

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