CHAPTER IX.

WINTER SPORTS.

It was now mid-winter, and a few inches of snow lay upon the frozen ground, sufficient to make pretty fair sleighing for a few days, and to afford good coasting for the boys on the hill-sides.  The favorite place for this amusement, among the boys in Oscar’s neighborhood, was the Common.  Here they always found good, long, smooth coasting-places, when there was any snow on the ground; and there was no danger of tripping up foot passengers, or getting under the heels of the horses, or being tapped on the shoulder by a policeman, which often happened to boys who coasted down the steep streets of the city,—­a practice, by the way, prohibited by a city law.

Oscar had a handsome new sled, which was a new year’s present from his father.  It was long and narrow, the two steel-shod runners projecting forward far beyond the top or seat, and ending in sharp points.  It was painted light blue, and varnished.  Upon the sides, in gilt letters, was its name—­CLIPPER; and upon its top it bore the initial of Oscar’s name, with an ornamental device.  It had what a sailor would call a decidedly rakish look, and was really a fast as well as a stylish “team,” to use the term by which Oscar usually spoke of it.  It even eclipsed George’s small but elegant sled, which, the winter previous, had been regarded as the ne plus ultra of sled architecture.

Ralph’s sled, by the side of these, presented a very cheap and antiquated appearance, and it was seldom that he took it with him to the Common.  He often borrowed Oscar’s, however, when it was not in use for his elder brother, with all his faults, was not selfish boy, but was willing to lend his property to others, when he was not using it himself.  One pleasant Wednesday afternoon, a portion of the week always devoted to recreation by the Boston school children, Ralph obtained leave to take the “Clipper” with him to the Common.  George also went with him with his sled.  The coasting is very good, and some hundreds of boys are enjoying it.  Long lines of sleds, freighted with from one to three or four juveniles, are dashing down in various directions from the Beacon Street mall; and an odd collection of juveniles and sleds it is, too.  There comes a chubby, red-faced lad, with his exact counterpart, on a smaller scale, clinging on behind him with one hand, and swinging his cap with the other.  Their sled is called the “Post-Boy,” and it seems to “carry the males” very expeditiously.  Close at their heels is a pale, poetic youth, lightly skimming over the inclined plane upon a delicate craft that looks like himself, and which he calls the “Mystery.”  Here comes a rude, unpainted sled, with two rough but merry youngsters lying prone upon it, one over the other, and their heels working up and down in the air in a most lively manner.  Anon goes by an aristocratic-looking craft, bearing upon it a sleek