"Can you write your initials?" asked Viggo. Yes; Peter Lightfoot stood on one leg and wrote "P. L." in the ice, but the letters hung together. Then Viggo started. He ran, turned himself around backward and wrote "P. L.," and between the "P." and the "L." he made a short jump so that the letters stood apart. "Hurrah for Viggo! He wrote Peter Lightfoot backward!" shouted the boys, and threw up their caps. Then the big boy blushed crimson, but he said nothing. Now they began to play "Fox and Geese," and everybody wanted Viggo to be the fox. Peter wanted to play, too, for he was sure that Viggo could not catch him. The race-course was scratched in the ice, and Viggo called, "Out, out, my geese," and off they ran. But Viggo didn't care to run after the little goslings, it was the big gander, Peter Lightfoot, he wished to catch. And that was a game! Off they went, Peter in front and Viggo after him, back and forth in corners and circles, and all the other boys stopped and looked on. Every time Viggo was right at his heels, Peter jumped and was far ahead of the fox again. At last Viggo had him cornered, but just as he would have caught the goose, Peter stretched out his left leg and meant to trip Viggo, but his skate caught in a frozen twig and--thump! there lay Peter Lightfoot, the ice cracking all around him. "A good thing he wasn't made of glass," laughed the boys and crowded around Peter. He got up and looked angrily around the circle of boys. "Now stand in a row, we'll jump," said he, and the boys did. They piled hats and caps on top of each other first only three high. The whole row jumped that, then four, then five, then six, but each time fewer got over and those who pushed the top cap off with their skates had to stop playing and must stand aside and look on. At last there were eight hats and caps on top of each other, and now only Peter and Viggo were left to jump. "Put your cap on top!" said Peter, and Viggo did. But all the boys shouted that no one could ever make that jump. Now, Peter came so fast that the air whistled about him, jumped--and whiff! he was over! He touched Viggo's cap the least little bit, but it did not fall off the pile. "Hurrah for Peter! That was a masterly jump!" shouted the boys. "Viggo can never do that, he is too small," said one. Viggo knew this was the test, and his heart beat fast. He ran with all his might. Viggo flew over like a bird, and there was at least four inches between his skates and the topmost cap. Then the boys crowded around him and shouted that Viggo was the champion. But Peter Lightfoot looked at him with a sly and evil eye, and you could see he was planning to play a trick on him. And, indeed, that's what he did.