“Did you?” said his brother, looking up with an air of deep interest. “Clever boy!” Ludwig laughed but tried to look cross, as he said, “I’m in earnest. We must get home sometime this year.” “Now, boys,” cried Peter, springing up as he fastened the last buckle. “There’s a clear way before us! We will imagine it’s the grand race. Ready! One, two, three, start!” I assure you that very little was said for the first half hour. They were six Mercuries skimming the ice. In plain English, they were lightning. No--that is imaginary too. The fact is, one cannot decide what to say when half a dozen boys are whizzing past at such a rate. I can only tell you that each did his best, flying, with bent body and eager eyes, in and out among the placid skates on the canal, until the very guard shouted to them to “Hold up!” This only served to send them onward with a two-boy power that startled all beholders. But the laws of inertia are stronger even than canal guards. After a while Jacob slackened his speed, then Ludwig, then Lambert, then Carl. They soon halted to take a long breath and finally found themselves standing in a group gazing after Peter and Ben, who were still racing in the distance as if their lives were at stake. “It is very evident,” said Lambert at he and his three companions started up again, “that neither of them will give up until he can’t help it.” “What foolishness,” growled Carl, “to tire themselves at the beginning of the journey! But they’re racing in earnest--that’s certain. Halloo! Peter’s flagging!” “Not so!” cried Ludwig. “Catch him being beaten!” “Ha! ha!” sneered Carl. “I tell you, boy, Benjamin is ahead.” Now, if Ludwig disliked anything in this world, it was to be called a boy--probably because he was nothing else. He grew indignant at once. “Humph, what are YOU, I wonder. There, sir! NOW look and see if Peter isn’t ahead!” “I think he IS,” interposed Lambert, “but I can’t quite tell at this distance.” “I think he isn’t!” retorted Carl. Jacob was growing anxious--he always abhorred an argument--so he said in a coaxing tone, “Don’t quarrel--don’t quarrel!” “Don’t quarrel!” mocked Carl, looking back at Jacob as he skated. “Who’s quarreling? Poot, you’re a goose!” “I can’t help that,” was Jacob’s meek reply. “See! they are nearing the turn of the canal.” “NOW we can see!” cried Ludwig in great excitement. “Peter will make it first, I know.” “He can’t--for Ben is ahead!” insisted Carl. “Gunst! That iceboat will run over him. No! He is clear! They’re a couple of geese, anyhow. Hurrah! they’re at the turn. Who’s ahead?” “Peter!” cried Ludwig joyfully. “Good for the captain!” shouted Lambert and Jacob. And Carl condescended to mutter, “It IS Peter after all. I thought, all the time, that head fellow was Ben.” This turn in the canal had evidently been their goal, for the two racers came to a sudden halt after passing it.