Realizing that Dunmore could not be with them when the time came for them to put on their own, his classmates had unanimously voted to give him his as a Christmas gift, and nothing they could have done could possibly have meant so much to him.  He was prouder than he had ever been before in his life, but—­with the gift came the faint premonition of the inevitable; the first doubt of future recovery; the first hint that perhaps he had been harboring false hopes, and it almost overwhelmed him, and Mrs. Harold read it all in a flash.  But Peggy saved the day.  Slipping to his side she said: 

“Aren’t you proud to be the very first to wear it?  They wanted to give you a Christmas present, but couldn’t think of a single thing you’d enjoy while you were so ill.  Then they thought of the ring.  Of course you could enjoy that, and there was no reason in the world that you shouldn’t either, and the other boys will be happy seeing you wear it and count the days before they can put theirs on.  And it is such a beauty, isn’t it?  We are all so glad you’ve got it.  You can just wiggle your finger and crow over the others every time they come to visit you.”

Lewis looked up at her and smiled.  He understood better than she guessed why she had talked so fast, and was grateful, but the pang was beneath the smile nevertheless.

Then dinner-hour drawing near the white-capped nurse came in as a gentle hint that her patient had had about all the excitement he could stand, and Mrs. Harold suggested their departure.  Their last glance showed them Lewis Dunmore looking at his class-ring, for he could move that arm just enough to enable him to raise the hand within his range of vision.

The week following was a happy one for all.  Each afternoon an informal dance was given in the gymnasium and the girls pranced to their hearts’ content.  As the week drew to an end the weather grew colder and colder until with Saturday came a temperature which froze College Creek solid.  This was most unusual for the season, but was hailed with wild rejoicings by the boys and girls, for skating is a rare novelty in Annapolis.

Saturday dawned an ideal winter day, clear, cold, and white.

“Can you skate, Peggy?” asked Polly, diving into her closet for a pair of skates which she had brought South with her, though with small hope of using them.

“Y—­e—­s,” answered Peggy, doubtfully.  “I can skate—­after a fashion, but I’m afraid my skating will not show to very great advantage beside yours, you Northern lassie.”

“Nonsense.  I’ll wager one of Aunt Cynthia’s cookies that you can skate as well as I can, though you never would admit it.”