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he grew to be quite
an adept, indeed, and could take a two-foot hurdle with little
difficulty. but he soon found that so far from being a help, his
familiarity with the snow-shoe was a great hindrance.
the mode of walking on a canadian snow-shoe, which he had learned with
such difficulty, had to be completely unlearned before he could begin
to make progress with the scandinavian footgear. for in snow-shoe
walking the feet must be lifted straight up and then carried forward
before they are planted, and any attempt to slide them forward makes a
woeful tangle; to try to lift the ski off the ground, however, is to
invite ridiculous distress, and the whole art of scooting on the ski
is in the long, sliding motion. it is a sort of skating on incredibly
long skates that must not be lifted from the snow.
quiz had the skies made by a kingston carpenter; and he was so proud
of them that, when a crowd gathered to see what he was going to do
with the mysterious slats, he proceeded to make his first attempt in
an open space in the academy campus. he put the skies down on the
snow, slipped his toes into the straps, and, sweeping a proud glance
around among the wondering kingstonians, dashed forward in his old
it took the kingstonians some seconds to decide which was quiz and
which was ski. for the skittish skies skewed and skedaddled and
skulked and skipped and scrubbed and screwed and screamed and scrawled
and scooped and scrabbled and scrambled and scambled and scumbled
and scraped and scrunched and scudded and scuttled and scuffled
and skimped and scattered in such scandalous scampishness that the
scornful scholars scoffed.
the poor boy was so laughed at for days by the whole academy that his
spunk was finally aroused. he got out again the skies he had hidden
away in disgust, and practised upon them in the fields, at a distance
from the campus, until he had finally broken the broncos and made a
swift and delightful team of them. he soon grew strong enough to glide
for hours at a high rate of speed without weariness, and the ski
became a serious rival to the bicycle in his affections.
he learned to shoot the hills at a breathless rate, climbing up
swiftly to the top; then, with feet apart, but even, zipping like an
express-train down the steep incline and far along the level below.
he even risked his bones by attempting the rash deeds of old
ski-runners. reaching an embankment, he would retire a little
distance, and then rush forward to the brink and leap over into the
air, lighting on the ground below far out, steadying himself quickly,
and shooting on at terrific pace.
but this rashness brought its own punishmentas fool-hardiness
[illustration: quiz learned to shoot the hills at a breathless
at dinner, one saturday, quiz had broken out in exclamations of
delight over his pet skies, and had begun to complain about the time
when spring should drive away the blessed winter.
i cant get enough of the snow, he exclaimed.
oh, cant you? said jumbo, ominously.
quiz could hardly finish his dinner, so impatient was he to be up and
off again, over the hills and far away. when he had gone, jumbo asked
the other lakerimmers if they had not noticed how exclusive quiz was
becoming, and how little they saw of him. he said, also, that he did
not approve of quiz rushing all over the country alone and taking
foolish risks for the sake of a little solitary fun.
the lakerimmers agreed that something should be done; and jumbo
reminded them of quiz remark that he could not get enough snow, and
suggested a plan that, he thought, might work as a good medicine on
that afternoon quiz seemed to have quite lost his head over his
ski-running. he felt that there were signs of a thaw in the air, and
he proposed that this snow should not fade away before he had indulged
in one grand, farewell voyage. he struck off into the country by a
new road, and at such a speed that he was soon among unfamiliar
as the day began to droop toward twilight he decided that it was high
time to be turning back toward kingston. he looked about for one last
embankment to shoot before he retraced his course.
far in the distance he thought he saw a fine, high bluff, and he
hurried toward it with delicious expectation. when he had reached the
brink he looked down and saw that the bluff ended in a little body of
water hardly big enough to be called a lake. after measuring the drop
with his eye, and deciding that while it was higher than anything he
had ever shot before, it was just risky enough to be exciting, he went
back several steps, came forward with a good impetus, and launched
himself fearlessly into the air like the aëronaughty darius green.
he launched himself fearlessly enough, but he was no sooner in mid-air
than he began to regret his rashness. it was rather late now, though,
to be thinking of that, and he realized that nothing could save him
from having a sudden meeting with the bottom of the hill.
he lost his nerve in his excitement, and crossed his skies, so that
when he struck, instead of sailing forward like the wind, he stuck and
went headforemost. fortunately, one of his skies brokeinstead of
most of his bones; and a very kind-hearted snow-bank appeared like a
feather-bed, and somewhat checked the force of his fall. but, for all
that, he was soon rolling over and over down the hill, and he landed
finally on a thin spot in the ice of the lake, and crashed through
into the water up to his waist.
now he was so panic-stricken that he scrambled frantically out. he
cast one sorry glance up the hill, and saw there the pieces into which
his ski had cracked, as well as the pathway he himself had cleared in
the snow as he came tumbling down. then he looked for the other ski,
and realised that it was far away under the ice.
he was now so cold, that, dripping as he was, he would not have waded
into the lake again to grope around for the other ski if that ski had
been solid gold studded with diamonds.
plainly, the only thing to do was to make for home, and that right
quickly, before night came on and he lost his way, and the pneumonia
it was a very different story, trudging back through the snow-drifts
in the twilight, from flitting like a butterfly on the ski. he
realized now that his legs were tired from the long run he had enjoyed
so much. he lost his way, too, time and again; and when he came to a
cross-roads and had to guess for himself which path to take, somehow
or other he seemed always to take the wrong one, and to plod along it
until he met some farmer to put him on the right path to kingston. but
though he met many a farmer, he seemed to find never a wagon going his
way, or even a hospitable-looking farm-house.
he was still miles away from kingston when lamp-lighting time came. a
little gleam came cheerfully toward him out of the dark. he hurried
to it, thinking of the fine supper the kind-hearted farmers would
doubtless give him, when, just as he reached the gate of the
door-yard, there was a most blood-curdling uproar, and two or three
furious dogs came bounding shadowily toward him