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 snow-shoe fashion. 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. quiz quit. 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 usually does. [illustration: quiz learned to shoot the hills at a breathless rate.] xv 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 him. 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 surroundings. 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 got him. 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