FISHING THROUGH THE ICE. 299 



friend; he scented tlie battle from afar. The pluck he 

 showed was admirable. Putting the crooked end of his 

 stick to the ice, and seizing it with both hands, he bent 

 down till nothing was visible to me but a small pair of 

 skates supporting an enormous pair of pants ; then, with 

 a little shout, he plunged into the thickest of the fray. 

 In less time than it takes to relate he was out again at 

 the other side of the crowd, zigzaging like a jack snipe, 

 shoving the ball before him, and pursued by at least 

 twenty youths. They could not touch him. He did just 

 what he liked with the ball ; three or four of them lay 

 sprawling on the ice. He paused a second, struck the 

 ball in one direction, and himself darted off in another, 

 just looking round at me, as much as to say " Come on ; " 

 and on I went, but not sure whether I was following a boy 

 or a merman on skates, or a watery Will-o'-the-Wisp, or 

 some other species of ice-fiend. But what is that ahead 

 on the ice ? A lot of spruce bushes. Ha ! now I am sure 

 that my guide is an uncanny thing ; he has suddenly dis- 

 appeared. No doubt he is taking a turn under the ice, 

 by way of change. 



But I must just go and see what the bushes are doing 

 on the ice. There were six of them all in a row, at inter- 

 vals of about 6 feet, and they were simply sheds or little 

 camps to shelter from the cutting wind six individuals 

 who were fishing most assiduously through as many holes 

 in the ice. It was plainly a family party father, mother, 

 three girls, and a boy ; and, by all that's wonderful, the 

 boy is my little friend. Mamma sat on a three-legged 

 stool in the centre of the family group, and the ice around 

 her was covered with frozen tommy-cods. That woman 



