The substitutes and members of the second team had taken possession of the rink and Bacon was guarding goal against the assaults of half a dozen swooping, charging players. At the far end Hammond was perched along the barrier, laughing and fooling, already practically certain of victory. Roy, watching, set his jaws together and resolved that if Hammond added to her present score it would be only after the hardest playing she had ever done! "You're not going to let them win, are you, Roy?" Roy turned to find Harry beside him with Spot wriggling and twisting in her arms. Roy petted him and had his cheek licked before he replied. Then, "I'm afraid we can't keep them from beating us, Harry," he answered, "but we're going to make a lot better showing in this half than we did in the last." "Does your wrist hurt?" asked Harry, glancing solicitously at the silk bandage about it. Roy shook his head. "No, but it isn't right strong yet and Mr. Cobb thought I'd better wear this rather than run any danger of putting it out of place again. How's Methuselah?" "Fine and dandy," answered Harry cheerfully. "You must come and see him; I think he gets rather dull sometimes. I've got some more white mice. That makes sixteen. I wish I knew what to do with them. Dad says I'll have to kill them, but I just couldn't do it." "Why not turn them loose?" asked Roy. Harry giggled. "I tried that and some of them came back and went up to John's room and he found one in his boot in the morning. He was terribly mad about it. John's very short tempered, you know." "He must be," laughed Roy. "Yes. And then yesterday he found two in the grain-chest and told Dad. I don't think it was nice of him to tell, do you? And Dad says I'll have to kill them." "I tell you what," said Roy. "You keep them until warm weather and we'll take them off somewhere and let them loose. I don't believe they'd ever get back again." "But they might die!" "I don't believe so. Anyway, they'd have a fighting chance, and if you kill them they won't have. See?" "John said I ought to buy an owl," said Harry disgustedly, "and feed them to him. As though I would!" "John's a brute," said Roy. "How about the squabs?" "Oh, they're coming fast! There are twelve already. I--I wish they wouldn't hatch. I hate to have them killed." "Mighty fine eating, squabs," said Roy teasingly. Harry shot an indignant glance at him. "Any person who'd eat a squab," she cried, "deserves to be--to be--" But Roy didn't learn what such a person deserved, for at that moment Mr. Cobb summoned the teams out again. Roy peeled off his crimson sweater, looked to his skate straps and called to Jack. When the latter had skated up Roy talked to him earnestly for a moment. "All ready, Porter?" cried Warren. "About six or eight feet from the corner of the goal," finished Roy. "And bang it in without waiting for anything. Understand?"