frost, hard, sharp, crisp, and unmistakable; do you like it? it is very unpleasant when you get up of a morning; the water is so cold. and then going to school shivering, and being put on to construe when you have the hot ache in your fingers, is trying to the patience, especially if one is inclined to self-indulgence, and is aided and abetted when at home by one’s mother.
but everything has its compensations. without work play would become a bore; if there were no hunger and thirst there would be no pleasure in eating and drinking; even illness is followed by convalescence, with story-books to read instead of lessons, and licence to lie in bed as long as you like, and so there is the delight, in very cold weather, of getting warm again; and there is also skating. whether we like it or not we have to put up with it when it comes, and it came that year at an unusual time, before the end of november. we often indeed have just a touch at that period, three days about, and then sleet and rain; but this was a regular good one, thermometer at nineteen fahrenheit, no wind, no snow, and the gravel-pits bearing. the gravel-pits were so called because there was no gravel there. there had been, but it was dug out, and carted away before the memory of the oldest inhabitant, and the cavities were filled with water. there were quite three acres of available surface altogether, and not farther than a mile from weston; but “ars longa, vita brevis est;” the art of cutting figures is long, and the period of practice short indeed. considering the price spent on skates in england, and the few opportunities of putting them on, it seems barbarous of masters not to give whole holidays when the ice does bear. but then what would parents and guardians say? a boy cannot skate himself into the smallest public appointment, and the rule of three is of much more importance to his future prospects than the cutting of that figure. the westonians made the most they could of their opportunity, however, and whenever they had an hour to spare the gravel-pits swarmed with them. their natural tendency was to rapid running, racing, and hockey; but leblanc, who was born in canada, where his father held an appointment, and who had worn skates almost as soon as he had shoes, did such wonderful things as set a large number of them practising figure skating. buller was bitten by the mania; he had never tried anything before but simple straightforward running on the flat of the skate with bent knees, so he had a great deal to learn; but with his usual persistency, when he once took anything in hand he did not regard the difficulties, and only dreaded lest he should not have sufficient opportunity of practising. he began, of course, by endeavouring to master the outside edge, which is the grammar of figure skating, and watched leblanc, but could make nothing out of that, for leblanc seemed to move by volition, as some birds appear to skim along without any motion of the wings. he could not give hints, or show how anything was done, because he could not understand where any difficulty lay. it was like simple walking to him; you get up and walk, you could not show any one exactly how to walk.
but there were two or three other fair skaters from whom more could be learned; penryhn, for example, was a very decent performer of simple figures. he came from a northern county, where there was yearly opportunity of practice, and had been taught by his father, who was an excellent skater.
“the first great thing you must always bear in mind,” said he, “is that the leg upon which you stand, while on the outside edge, must be kept straight and stiff, with the knee rigidly braced. you see some fellows there practising by crossing the legs; while they are on one leg they bring the other in front, and across it, before they put it down on the ice. this certainly forces you to get on to the outside edge, but it twists the body into a wrong position—one in which the all-important thing in skating, balance, cannot be acquired. besides, it gets you into a way of bringing the foot off the ground to the front, whereas it ought always to be a little behind the one you are skating on, and it takes as long to get out of that habit as to learn the outside edge altogether pretty well. why, here is old algebra positively with a pair of skates on!”
“old algebra,” as a mathematical genius, whose real name was smith, was called, skated very well too.
“look here, algebra,” cried penryhn, “i am trying to show buller how to do the outside edge; can’t you give him a scientific wrinkle?”
“the reason why you find an initial difficulty in the matter,” said algebra gravely, adjusting his spectacles, “is that you naturally suppose that if you bend so far out of the perpendicular, the laws of gravity must cause you to fall. but that is because you omit the centrifugal force from your consideration; remember what centrifugal force is, buller, and it will give you confidence.”
“oh, i have confidence enough!” said buller; “it’s the power of getting on to the edge without overbalancing myself that i want, and all that rot about the laws of gravity won’t help me.”
“i fancied they wouldn’t, but penryhn asked for a scientific wrinkle. if you want a practical one, keep the head and body erect, never looking down at the ice; when you strike out with the right foot, look over the right shoulder; body and foot are sure to follow the eye, and clasp your hands behind you, or keep them at your sides; do anything but sway them about. that’s it, you got on to the outside edge then; now boldly with the left foot, and look over the left shoulder. never mind (buller had come a cropper); you fell then because you did not let yourself go, but when your skate took the outside edge you tried to recover. you lacked confidence, in short, in the centrifugal force, and bothered yourself, instinctively, without knowing it, with the laws of gravity. try again; you stick to that. rigidity. right foot—look over right shoulder, not too far, just a turn of the head. left foot—look over left shoulder. there, you did not fall then. trust to the centrifugal force, that’s the thing,” and he swept away with a long easy roll.
“a capital coach he would make,” said penryhn, admiringly. “he always tells you just what you want to know without bothering.”
“yes,” said buller, “i have asked him things in lessons once or twice, and he made it all as clear as possible, but i didn’t know he was good for anything else. this is a grand idea for learning to skate, though; look here, this is all right, is it not?”
“yes, you have got it now; lean outwards a little more, and don’t bend forward. the weight should be on the centre of the foot.”
there are few sensations more delightful than the first confident sweep on the outside edge, with the blade biting well into the clear smooth ice, and buller felt as if he could never have enough of it, and he kept on, trying to make larger and larger segments of a circle, not heeding the falls he got for the next half-hour, when it was time to be getting back, and he had reluctantly to take his skates off, and jog home at a trot. the next chance he had he was back to the ice and at it again.
others who had got as far as he had began practising threes, or trying to skate backwards, but not so buller. he must have that outside edge perfectly, and make complete circles on it, without hesitation or wobbling, much less falling, before he attempted anything else. progress did not seem slow to him, he was used to that in everything, and he was surprised at improving as quickly as he did. all he dreaded was a heavy snow-fall, or a breaking up of the frost, and either calamity was to be expected from hour to hour. before going to bed on the night of the third day of the ice bearing, he drew the curtain and looked out of window. the moon was nearly full, there was not a breath of wind stirring to shake the hoar-frost off the trees; all was hard, and bright, and clear. how splendid the pits would be now! how glorious to have the whole sheet of ice to one’s self! why, with such a chance of solitary practice he might well expect to cut an eight, for he could already complete entire circles on each foot. if it were not for the bars to his window he would certainly go. the lane below had no building to overlook it; none of the windows of that part of the house where dr jolliffe and his family, and the servants slept, commanded the lane. he would have no other house to pass on the way to the gravel-pits; really there would be no risk to speak of at all. the window was barely more than six feet, certainly not seven from the ground, and the brick wall old and full of inequalities where the mortar had fallen out, and the toe might rest; with a yard of rope dangling from the sill, to get in again would be the easiest thing possible. the more he thought about it the more simple the whole scheme seemed; if it were not for the bars. he examined them. the removal of one would be sufficient.
“you beast!” said buller, seizing and shaking it. it seemed to give a little, and he shook it again: it certainly was not very tight, and he examined it further. it fitted into the woodwork of the window-frame at the top, and terminated at the bottom in a flat plate, perforated with three holes, by which it was secured by nails to the sill. nails? no, by jove, screws! only the paint had filled in the little creases at the top of them, and it was simple enough to pick that off. his pocket-knife had a screw-driver at the top of it, he applied this and turned it; the screw came up like a lamb. so did the second; so did the third. the bar was free at the bottom, and when he pulled it towards him it came out in his hand! he replaced it, just to see if it would be all right. it was the simplest thing in the world, you could not tell that it had been touched. so he took it out again, laid it aside carefully, and considered.
he had no rope, but there was a leather belt, which he buckled round one of the other bars, dropping the end outside. perhaps that would give rather a slight grip, so he also got out a woollen scarf, such as is sometimes called a “comforter,” which he possessed, and fastened that to the bar also. with that there could be no difficulty in getting in again. should he give penryhn or any other fellow a chance of accompanying him? well, on the whole, no. it was impossible that it should be discovered, but still, apparent impossibilities do happen sometimes. suppose one of the masters had a fancy for a moonlight skate! he did not mind risking his own skin, when the risk was so slight, but to get another fellow into a row was an awful idea. besides, two would make more noise getting out and in than one, and the other might laugh, or call out, or play the fool in some way or another. and as for being alone in the expedition, buller rather liked that than otherwise. he was rather given to going his own way, and carrying out his own ideas unhampered by other people’s suggestions.
so he quickly determined to keep his counsel and disturb no one. he had blown his candle out before first trying the bar, and had been working by the bright moonlight. then he fastened his skates round his neck, so that they should neither impede his movements, nor clatter, and put one leg out of window, then the other, turned round, let himself down by the hands, and dropped into the lane. he looked up to see that the scarf was hanging all right; it was within easy reach of both hands; he gave it a pull to try it, and being satisfied, got over into the field, and started at a jog-trot for the gravel-pits. it was glorious; utter stillness—the clear sheet of ice flooded with the moonbeams, a romantic sense of solitude, and a touch of triumphant feeling in having got the best of the world, and utilising such a magnificent time, while others were wasting it in bed. he put his skates on and began. whether the exhilaration of stealing a march upon everybody, or the impossibility of running up against anyone, or the confidence inspired by solitude, and the absolute freedom from being laughed at if he fell, were the cause, he had never gone like this before. striking out firmly from the start, he went round the sheet of ice in splendid curves, the outside edge coming naturally to him now. a long sweep on the right foot, a long sweep on the left, round and round, with arms folded or clasped behind him. not a trip, not a stumble, not a momentary struggle to retain the balance. it was splendid! then at last he began with the circles which he was so anxious to perfect himself in. round he went on his right, in smaller compass than he had ever accomplished one yet, with plenty of impetus to bring him round at the end. then round on the left, quite easily, without an effort. again with the right, and so on, a capital eight. it was like magic, as if he had acquired the art in an instant. or was he in bed and dreaming that he was skating? it really seemed like it. if it were so, he did not care how long it was before he was roused. but no, he was wide awake, and the phenomenon was simply the result of confidence, following on good and persevering practice in the right direction. breaking away from his eight, he swung round and round the pond again as fast as he could go. then he tried a three; the first half on the outside edge, forwards was easy enough, and he found no difficulty in turning on the toe, but he could not complete the tail on the inside edge backwards without staggering and wobbling. he had a good two hours of it, and then the moon disappeared behind a bank of clouds and he prepared to go home. skating in the dark would be poor fun, and besides it was very late, so he made for the bank, took his skates off, and jogged back.
mr rabbits, one of the masters, who was great at chemistry, and could tell you to a grain how much poison you swallowed in that water for which the gradus sarcastically gives pura as a standing epithet, had been asked by the vicar of penredding, a village five miles off, to give a lecture in his school-room to the parishioners, one of a series of simple entertainments which were got up to cheer the long evenings in the winter months. the vicar was an old college friend of mr rabbits, who gladly consented, and like a wise man chose the subject which he was best up in, writing a very amusing and instructive but very elementary paper on light, with plenty of illustrations and simple experiments, which kept his audience in a state of wonder and delight the whole evening, and sent them home with plenty to think and talk about afterwards. it was necessary to have a very early and hurried dinner, the lecture beginning at seven, so mr rabbits went back to the vicarage after it was over, to supper, after which there was a chat about the old college boat and so forth, and it was rather late when he started for home. he had refused the offer of a conveyance, considering that the five miles walk on a bright still frosty night would be a luxury, and so he found it, though for the latter part of his journey the moon was obscured. it was not so dark, however, as to prevent his distinguishing objects, and as he passed along the lane by which he entered weston he was sure he saw someone lurking under the wall at the back of dr jolliffe’s house. suspecting there was something wrong, he got into the shade under the hedge and crept noiselessly along, taking out of his pocket a piece of magnesium wire which he had made use of in his lecture, and a match-box. presently he saw the figure raise itself from the ground towards a window, and immediately struck a match and ignited the wire, which he held over his head. the whole side of the house was at once as bright as day, and a boy was distinctly seen getting in at the window.
“buller!” exclaimed mr rabbits, “what are you doing there?”
“please, sir, i am getting in,” said poor buller.
“so i perceive,” said mr rabbits; “but what right have you there?”
“it’s my own room, please, sir.”
“well, but what right then had you out of it at this time of night?”
“none at all, sir, i am afraid.”
“then why did you do it?”
“i hoped not to be seen, sir.”
“hum! what have you been doing?”
“skating, sir.”
“i shall report you in the morning.”
poor tom buller! how crest-fallen he felt as he conscientiously replaced the bar, and screwed it down again. how heavy his heart was as he took his clothes off and got into bed? what a fool he had been, he thought, and yet at the same time how awfully unlucky. wrecked at the moment of entering the port! however, it was done now, and could not be helped; he must stand the racket. he supposed he should get off with a flogging. surely they would not expel him for such a thing as that. of course they would make an awful row about his breaking out at night, but he had not done any harm when he was out. and the doctor was a good-natured chap, he certainly would let him off with a rowing and a flogging. he had never been flogged; did it hurt very much, he wondered? at all events it would soon be over. he had thought for a moment while skating that perhaps it was a dream; how jolly it would be if it could only prove a dream, and he could wake up in the morning and find that the whole business was fancy. what a good job that he had not told penryhn, and got him into a row as well. what a nuisance that old rabbits was to come by just at the wrong moment; five minutes earlier or five minutes later it would have been all right. what thing was that he lighted? what a tremendous flare it made, to be sure. well, it was no use bothering; happen what might he had a jolly good skate, and was firm on the outside edge for ever. now the thaw might come if it liked, and tom, who was a bit of a philosopher, went to sleep.
