188 THE CLERK OF THE WOODS 



was at least a mile west of the pond. He sank 

 into the water up to his chin, and saved him- 

 self with difficulty, the airhole luckily being 

 small and the ice firm about the edges. What 

 would a twentieth-century boy do under such 

 circumstances? I can only guess. But I 

 know what Charles H. did. He came back 

 to the schoolhouse first, to make his apologies 

 to the master ; I can see him now, as he 

 came in smiling, looking just a little foolish ; 

 then he ran home three miles, perhaps 

 to change his clothing. And he is living still. 

 Oh, yes, we were tough, or we died young. 

 That was while we were in the high school, 

 when I was perhaps eleven or twelve years 

 old. But my liveliest recollections of winter 

 antedate that period by several years. Then 

 sliding down-hill was our dearest excitement. 

 Ours was " no great of a hill," to use a form 

 of speech common among us ; I smile now 

 as I go past it ; but it could not have 

 suited us better if it had been made on pur- 

 pose ; and no half holiday or moonlight even- 

 ing was long enough to exhaust our enjoy- 

 ment of the exercise walking up and sliding 

 down, walking up and sliding down. " Mo- 



