“Hang the chump! Look at the smirk of him!” complained Step. Sam made no answer. Orkney was approaching, and for an instant the eyes of the rivals met. Sam’s expression did not change, but the other’s smile lost the little charm it had. Sam found it bitterly taunting; it seemed to say to him, “This was what you schemed to prevent, eh? Well, you didn’t do it, did you?” Step drove an elbow into his ribs. “You can’t spoil that mug by pounding it! Say, though! When are you going to get at it?” “Soon as I can,” said Sam simply. “Date with him?” whispered Step eagerly. “Not exactly.” The classes were rising to march out of the hall, but Step found time to make a suggestion. “Maybe you can catch him down at the pond this afternoon. They say the ice is at last strong enough to hold.” “I’ll be there,” Sam promised. Mild as the season had been, the temperature had been falling steadily, if slowly; and the skim of ice on the big mill-pond on the outskirts of Plainville had thickened until it had been for some days in rather perilous use by venturesome skaters. Now, however, Sam believed it was reasonably safe; and when he descended the slope to the pond, its surface was dotted with swiftly gliding figures. Directly in front of him a lively game of hockey was in progress. To the right, and safely removed from the rushes of the players, were boys and girls, skating singly, or in pairs, or in long lines, hand in hand. To the left, near the dam, were a few youngsters. Sam shook his head as he observed them. The ice always was thinner there than in other parts of the pond, and there was seldom a season in which somebody did not regret rashness in straying too close to air-holes. At a time like this there was more or less danger anywhere in the neighborhood of the dam. “It ought to be roped off,” he told himself; but as there appeared to be no means to carry out this precaution he sat down on the bank and began to put on his skates. This he did leisurely, pausing now and then to run his glance over the skaters. At a little distance up the shore some of the larger boys were building a fire, and were having trouble, their fuel consisting chiefly of long boards torn from an abandoned ice-house. Here a little crowd clustered. Sam thought he had a glimpse of Orkney, but was not certain. As he tightened his last strap, however, and stood up, Step came along, arms and legs flying in an effort to recover the partly lost art of the Dutch roll. At sight of Sam the lanky youth went through some extraordinary contortions, checked his speed, and glided alongside his friend. “Say! It’s all right--he’s here!” was his greeting. “Who’s here?” asked Sam, quite unnecessarily. “Humph! Who you s’pose? Deacon Pender?” “No,” said Sam coolly. “I don’t imagine you were thinking of the deacon.” “You bet I wasn’t!” rapped Step. “I was thinking of Tom Orkney.” Sam peered at the crowd by the fire. “Queer I can’t make him out,” he remarked.