or, The Silver Skates 355

pagoda-like affairs, decked with sea-shells, and streamers of
every possible hue, are the judges’ stands ; and those columns
and flagstaffs upon the ice mark the limit of the race-course.
The two white columns, twined with green, connected at the
top by that long, floating strip of drapery, form the starting-
point. Those flagstaffs, half a mile off, stand at each end of :
the boundary line, cut sufficiently deep to be distinct to the
skaters, though not deep enough to trip them when they turn
to come back to the starting-point.

The air is so clear, it seems scarcely possible that the columns
and flagstaffs are so far apart. Of course, the judges’ stands
are but little nearer together.

Half a mile on the ice, when the atmosphere is like this, is
but a short distance, after all, especially when fenced with a
living chain of spectators.

The music has commenced. How melody seems to enjoy
itself in the open air! The fiddles have forgotten their agony,
and everything is harmonious. Until you look at the blue
tent, it seems that the music springs from the sunshine, it is
so boundless, so joyous. Only the musicians are solemn,

Where are the racers? All assembled together near the
white columns. It is a beautiful sight, — forty boys and girls
in picturesque attire, darting with electric swiftness in and out
among each other, or sailing in pairs and triplets, beckoning,
chatting, whispering, in the fulness of youthful glee.

A few careful ones are soberly tightening their straps ; others,
halting on one leg, with flushed, eager faces, suddenly cross
the suspected skate over their knee, give it an examining shake,
and dart off again. One and all are possessed with the spirit
of motion. They cannot stand still. ‘Their skates are a part
of them ; and every runner seems bewitched.