In obedience to the majesty of the law, the boys skated off and found a secluded, smooth bit of ice nearer shore. There, John tried to cut a shaky "J" on the ice and fell over backwards. Shortly afterward, Silvey met with a similar fate, and the boys looked at each other despondently. Both pairs of ankles were aching badly from the unaccustomed exercise, but neither wanted to admit it. Silvey loosened one of his skate straps. "Got your watch, John?" It showed a quarter past nine. "Our mothers'll be waiting for us," he said. Thus a way to honorable retreat was found. They stamped stiffly back to the warming house and took off their skates. John held his numbed fingers as near to the glowing coal stove in the center of the room as he dared, while Bill studied the age-stained menu over the lunch counter. "My treat," he said, as he drew a bright half-dollar from his pocket. "What'll you have?" John ordered his favorite, mince pie; his host, a cut of half-baked apple. They washed the food down with a glass of cider apiece, and stumbled out on the board walk toward home. "Feel's funny, walking after you've had skates on," John commented as they trudged along the dark path. Silvey spoke up, "Say, John." "Yes?" "You know Sid DuPree?" He nodded. "Well, he's trying to cut you out with Louise. Saw her in the corner drug store with him, drinking ice cream sodas." John's foot caught in a piece of loosened turf at the edge of the gravel walk. Otherwise, he gave no sign that he had heard. "Aren't mad because I told you, are you?" "No." His paper route had kept him too busy to give the attention due her, but if Louise were inclined to succumb to the blandishments of ten-cent sodas at a drug store, he was glad to know it. Such incidents might result in disaster for the great plan if allowed to run unhindered. "Feel's like a thaw," said Bill, trying to rouse his chum from the revery into which his announcement had plunged him. Again John nodded. Indeed there was a curious softness in the air. Perhaps the promise of a long skating season was to prove false after all. But he must see Louise, the very moment of her return. Then Sid had better watch out. He was at his front steps before he realized it. "Good night," called Silvey, as he turned for home. "Good night," replied John a trifle wearily. And with the same feeling of morose taciturnity, a strange mood on this of all nights, he undressed and crept into bed. CHAPTER XII IN WHICH THE PATH OF TRUE LOVE DOES NOT RUN SMOOTHLY But the softness in the Christmas air did not presage a thaw. When Mrs. Fletcher closed the windows in her son's room the following morning, and laid her hand on his motionless shoulder, she awakened him with a greeting of, "Come, son, look out and see what's happened."