Ten days after Christmas the ice was declared quite perfect, and the Social Six were to have their first skating-party of the season on Holden's Pond. It was planned to invite the usual boys, to begin skating at about half-past six, and to go to Katharine French's house at half-past eight for supper and games. Betty's married brother and his wife, who were great favorites with the girls and boys, were to chaperone the party.

Ruth was greatly excited over the prospect, for she had hardly done more than learn to stand up on her Christmas skates, and she longed to be able to glide off as gracefully as Dorothy did. She looked very gay in her red suit, with a jaunty tam-o'-shanter set rakishly on the brown curls, and even Arthur smiled involuntarily at the pretty picture as she came into the library to say good-bye.

"I wish you were going, Arthur," she said. "But, at least, you'll escape one trial; you won't have to hold me up."

"I believe I could stand even that," answered Arthur wistfully. And then because he had set himself to the task of keeping cheerful, he added, "Just wait until next winter; I'll get up a special skating-party for you, and whiz you over the ice at a great rate."

"I hope by that time I'll be able to whiz a little by myself. Just now I can only wabble and squeal. Oh, I must hurry, for there's the whistle," and with a gay good-bye Ruth flew out of the house.

Arthur went slowly over to the window to watch the jolly crowd out of sight. Then he went back to his book and began reading with an unconscious sigh which made his mother and father look at each other with troubled eyes.

As they neared the pond with its twinkling bonfires, it seemed to Ruth there would be small chance for an inexperienced skater in the midst of the many dark figures which were gliding in every direction. She felt better about it, however, when she found Philip taking possession of her to put on her skates, and then starting off at a slow, steady glide which at once gave her confidence. She had almost begun to feel that she could really skate, when Frank came up and took her for a mad dash around the pond at a pace that fairly made her tremble. She was glad to get back once more to the little inlet which the club had chosen for its meeting-place, and where on the bank they had built their bonfire. Joe and Charlotte skated along at about the same moment, and Ruth was secretly glad to have Joe claim her as his next partner.

"You're doing wonders, my dear," said pretty Mrs. Ellsworth, as Ruth came back to the meeting-place after her comfortable spin with Joe. "Here's Jack waiting to take you out as soon as you are rested, and I'll get Joe to help me find my husband."

Jack was a fine skater, and Ruth felt so encouraged by her last attempt that she really enjoyed her skate with him and began to long to do something by herself. As they came back after circling the pond, she said earnestly, "Now you go and have a skate with some one who knows how. I want to rest a minute, and try all by myself in this inlet, where I shall be out of the way."

Jack refused at first to leave her alone, but she insisted, and as Betty went by at that moment he was off in pursuit before he fairly realized what he was doing. He quieted his own conscience and Betty's protests by promising to find Bert and send him back to Ruth immediately.

Left to herself, Ruth started out, very timidly at first and very unevenly. Finding herself still on her feet she gained confidence and struck out more boldly. The inlet seemed altogether too small, and she skated out a little way, still keeping near the shore and well out of the track of the skaters.

She was so busy watching her own feet that she didn't notice Betty and Jack as they flashed by until they shouted their congratulations on her success. Then Bert and Dorothy came along and stopped to tell her that they would all meet at the bonfire in fifteen minutes, and go from there to Katharine's house. They tried to persuade her to skate around the pond with them, but she was so in love with her own efforts that she said no and sent them off in a hurry. Then she tried again with new courage, and struck out with such energy that before she knew it she had left the edge of the pond, and was skating with quick and fairly steady strokes in the direction, opposite to that in which Bert and Dorothy had gone. It startled her when she realized that she had left the meeting-place far behind, and she knew she ought to turn about and try to get back there. But she was so fascinated by her own success that she hated to turn for fear the spell would be broken.

Suddenly she caught the toe of her skate in a crack, made a frantic effort to keep herself from falling, and then went with a crash flat on her face on the ice. It seemed an age to her before she could move; then she tried to get up, and some one, rather unskilfully, helped her to her feet. As she stood there half dazed and shaking, she put her hand to her face and brought it away all wet.

"Oh, dear, my nose is bleeding," she said aloud, and then became conscious that she had an audience of two small boys, who were grinning at her unsympathetically.

"Won't you please take off my skates?" she said as pleasantly as she could, for it made her very angry to see them laughing at her. She longed to get out of their sight as quickly as possible, and she wondered if she could ever make her way across the ice and back to the meeting-place with her knees trembling under her in such unwonted fashion. Then she thought of how she must look with her face streaked with blood, and she decided it would be better to go home. She felt quite sure that if she went a little way across the field to the left she should find the road they had come down earlier in the evening.

"It didn't take us so very long to come down here," she thought, as she plunged through the snow, "and after I've repaired damages Uncle Henry will see that I get back to the party."

Her nose was still bleeding, but she stopped it after a while with applications of snow. Her head ached, and she felt sure the afflicted nose was swelling and that she should be a fright. She wished that she hadn't tried to be so smart, that she had stayed in the little inlet, and all the useless wishes that one makes when it is too late.

When she came to the road she felt better, and walked along as cheerfully as her increasing aches would permit. Now that she was getting farther away from the pond it was very still, painfully still, she thought. The moon had disappeared, but the sky was thickly sown with stars and the glistening snow-mantle was more beautiful than ever. For some reason the road seemed strangely unfamiliar, and Ruth faltered and almost turned back as she remembered that she had never before been out alone in the evening. It had been so light at the pond, with the many bonfires, and so noisily gay that she had not realized until now what the loneliness of the walk would be.

"It was stupid of me not to have one of those small boys go for Bert or Phil," she said to herself. "I should rather it would be Phil, because he takes care of one so nicely, and I'm sure he wouldn't laugh. I'd be willing to have them laugh at me, though, if I could only see them."

By this time Ruth should have begun to see houses, and she had already decided that she should stop at the first one she saw and ask for help. But to her dismay no houses appeared, and the road seemed narrower and more shut in by trees than it had before.

Still she clung tenaciously to the idea that she was on the right road, and that if she kept on long enough she should come to the houses. She tried to comfort herself by thinking that she had been too absorbed on the way down to notice how the road turned and how far the houses really were from the pond. Her head ached enough to make her feel a little dazed, and her nose seemed as large as a small apple when she cautiously touched it.

Suddenly she was quite sure that she was on the wrong road, and realized that she had no idea in which direction to go to get home. Besides that she was so tired that she could hardly keep on walking. Tears started to her eyes, but she winked them away. "I won't cry," she said boldly, as though she thought that speaking aloud would make it more binding upon her. "And I will keep moving, for then I can't freeze, and it seems terrifically cold."

She stood still for a moment trying to peer into the darkness ahead of her and wondering whether there might be houses near, or whether it would be better to go back and try to find the pond.

Suddenly on the still, cold air floated the sound of a voice. "Ruth!" it called,—and then after a moment of silence, "Ruth Shirley!" The sound was so drawn-out, so far-reaching, that as it echoed about her Ruth positively shook with fright and excitement. Then she started in the direction from which it seemed to come, a pathetic little figure stumbling from weariness.

After Ruth's departure Arthur tried hard to fix his mind on his story, but even the charm of Treasure Island failed to distract him. In spite of himself his thoughts turned always to the starlit winter night, and to the pond gay with bonfires and torches and covered with boys and girls. After a while he closed the book with a snap, and went to the piano, where he softly tried over some new music Ruth had left there. Then came a sound of sleigh-bells, the tramp of feet on the piazza, and the peal of the door-bell.

As Katie opened the door, a cyclone swept in which resolved itself into Phil, Frank and Joe, all talking at once. "We've come to take you over to Katharine's for the supper, and you've got to go," they announced almost as one man.

"It's no use for you to say no," continued Phil, "for we shall use force if necessary. We've had our orders not to come back without you, and you surely wouldn't deprive our dear little Joe of the chance of a supper."

Joe clasped his hands and wriggled imploringly, while Frank tried to hasten matters by going in search of Arthur's overcoat.

"Well, I'll go," said Arthur hesitatingly. "You'll have to boost me out to the sleigh, for I couldn't take a step on this snow."

"Of course. Frank and I will bear your lordship to the sleigh, and Joe can bring the stick. I'm glad that it's only one crutch now, old fellow," ended Phil so affectionately that Mrs. Hamilton could have hugged him.

"It's going to be one cane in—well, I don't dare to say just how long, but soon," announced Arthur with such determination that, "Hurrah," "Bully for you," "You're a brick," came from the boys simultaneously.

To Arthur the quick rush through the keen air, the tingle of the flying snow-needles against his face, above all the wholesome companionship of his chums, were as rain in thirsty places. The jokes of the boys seemed the wittiest things he had ever heard, and he shouted with laughter.

As they reached the piazza Betty opened the door. "Have you seen Ruth?" she asked anxiously. "She has disappeared, and all the others except Katharine are out hunting for her."

"Disappeared!" said Frank, looking as though he could not believe his ears. "How under the sun could she manage to disappear? Wasn't Jack with her?"

"Yes, but she wanted to be left alone for a while to practice, and when we were ready to start for Katharine's she was nowhere to be found. Oh, do hurry and don't stop for explanations." Phil and Joe were already out of the house, and Frank was soon at their heels.

"It's horrid to be left behind to wait, isn't it, Arthur?" said Betty, feeling very helpless and realizing how much more so Arthur must feel.

"It makes me feel like a log," answered Arthur. He was tramping up and down the long parlor and in his excitement doing better work with his crutch than he had ever done. "I'm going out on the piazza, Betty," he announced. "I can't stand it any longer in the house."

As he went through the hall his eye fell on the megaphone which hung there, and with a dim idea that it might be of use to him he tucked it under his free arm. The piazza was clean and dry, and he walked its length, finding the exertion a relief to his feelings. The megaphone was an awkward burden, and he started to put it down, only to snatch it up again before it had touched the piazza floor. When he had brought it out he had thought he might shout a triumphant "found" through it. Now a better purpose suggested itself to him.

"Ruth! Ruth Shirley!" he called, and his ringing voice flew through the air in waves of sound.

"Oh, do you see her?" shrieked Katharine, opening the front door.

"No, but I hope she can hear me. I've an idea that she tried to go home for some reason, and that she has lost herself on one of those winding roads that lead from the pond. Anyway, I'm going to shout every two minutes, and the sound may help her find her way." Katharine retreated, and the two girls wandered about restlessly in the house and listened for each call of Ruth's name. Suddenly there was a hurried thump of the crutch and Arthur shouted excitedly: "She's coming, girls; run and meet her."

The two girls flew out of the house to see just turning into the yard a weary-looking girl who was unmistakably Ruth. They rushed to meet her and half carried her up the steps and into the house, while Arthur shouted a rousing "found" through the megaphone.

"Is that the voice that's been calling me?" asked Ruth as he followed them into the house. "I believe if it hadn't been for that I should have given up."

"But where have you been and how did you manage to get lost?" questioned Betty.

"Oh, don't ask me any questions now, but give me a looking-glass and some powder so that I can fix this dreadful nose before the others get here," implored Ruth. "I'm tired to death, but I started out to make myself look better before I came to your party, and I want to do it."

The three girls vanished up-stairs, leaving Arthur to poke the fire and chuckle quietly over this truly feminine ending to the tragedy.

"She's the real thing," he said to himself. "Doesn't want to be pitied and fussed over."

By the time the others had gathered, Ruth came down-stairs and was besieged at once with questions.

"It was so foolish of me," she said as she finished telling her story. "I might so easily have sent one of those small boys across the pond. All I could think of at first was to go somewhere where I could take care of my poor nose." As she spoke she shut one eye and gazed with the other at her red and swollen nose.

"I think the swelling's going down a little, don't you?" she asked anxiously.

They all laughed, and Jack said almost as if he felt it a personal grievance, "I don't believe you were so scared as we were after all."

It was a jolly supper, but to Ruth, who ached from head to foot, it seemed as if it would never end. She did her best to behave as usual, and succeeded so well that for some time no one noticed how pale and tired she looked.

As they got up from the table, Arthur said suddenly: "Say, Phil,
I'm awfully tired. Do you mind getting out your old nag now? And,
Ruth, wouldn't you like to go home too?"

"Oh, yes," answered Ruth, so eagerly that the others realized at once the cause of Arthur's sudden weariness. No one said a word, but the girls almost fell over each other in their endeavors to assist her, and the boys rushed the sleigh to the door in great haste.

"Ladies first," said Phil gallantly, and before Ruth realized what was happening, he and Frank had gently picked her up and deposited her in the sleigh. Then came Arthur, and then the boys piled in on the front seat.

Mrs. Hamilton met them at the front door. "I'm so glad you came home early, children. Ruth, you must be tired to death after skating."

"I am. Oh, I am," answered Ruth with a little laugh, and then she surprised herself by throwing both arms about Mrs. Hamilton's neck and bursting into tears.

"Don't you dare to think I'm crying, Arthur Hamilton," she managed to say between her sobs. "I said I wouldn't, and I won't," and then realizing the absurdity of what she was saying, she laughed as unrestrainedly as she had cried.

The sight of Mrs. Hamilton's worried face and Arthur's helpless alarm brought her to her senses, and she said penitently, "Do forgive me for being so foolish. I've tried so hard not to cry that when I felt Aunt Mary's arms around me it just had to come out."

"Darling, the best place for you is in bed, and I shall see that you're tucked in all 'comfy,'" said Mrs. Hamilton tenderly.

As she started up the stairs, Ruth turned to Arthur who was slowly following. "I really do believe you saved my life," she said earnestly. "I was so frightened and tired and achy that I couldn't have gone many more steps if that blessed old voice hadn't led me."

"Oh, some one would have found you before long," answered Arthur, who hated to take any undeserved credit to himself.

"Perhaps," assented Ruth doubtfully. "At any rate it would have been a trifle cold sitting there waiting to be found, and I prefer to think you saved my life. It makes me feel much more important."

"Ail right, we'll call it so then," said Arthur with a laugh. "And now we're square again, as we were on the night when we first ate dinner together, for if I saved your life you have certainly saved my common sense."

"I must say I like it to hear you compare your common sense with my life. However, I'll shake hands on it," and with a laughing good-night Ruth followed Mrs. Hamilton into the pink room.

Arthur thumped along into his own room and went happily to bed, feeling that girls were pluckier that he had thought them, and that even crutch-bearers could accomplish something in the world.