Nan Sherwood at Palm Beach; or, Strange adventures among the orange groves

For a long distance out from shore the lake seemed frozen
solid. A small island rose above the ice about half a mile distant, and
this was the limit fixed upon for the coasters. The cove between the
foot of the hill and the island had a glassy coating of ice that had
been swept and scraped and served for skating as well as coasting.

"I wonder if it's perfectly safe," remarked Grace Mason, a little
timidly. "You know this is the first time the cove's been frozen this
winter, and we haven't tried it yet."

"Bless your little heart, you'll be as safe as if you were on a
battlefield," was the dubious comfort that Laura held out.

"Much safer than that," interposed Professor Krenner, the teacher of
mathematics and architectural drawing at the Lakeview Hall school that
the girls were attending. "You can be sure that neither Dr. Prescott nor
I would take any chances on that score. A heavy logging team went over
it yesterday, and the ice didn't even creak, let alone crack. And every
day that passes of this kind of weather makes it thicker and stronger."

"My, but that's a comfort," remarked Laura. "I'd hate to have this young
life of mine cut off just when it's so full of promise."

"How Laura hates herself," put in Bess Harley.

"You're perfectly safe, Laura," Nan assured her. "Only the good die
young, you know."

The professor's kindly eyes twinkled as he looked from one to the other
of the rosy-cheeked, sparkling-eyed girls, bubbling over with fun and
vitality. He had just come up from the queer little cabin in which he
lived at the edge of the lake. It was part of his work to supervise the
coasting and, as far as possible, keep it free from accident.

About his sole diversion was playing on a key bugle, and the
long-drawn-out notes of the instrument, sometimes lively and sometimes
in a minor strain, were familiar sounds to the girls, and often an
occasion of jesting.

Professor Krenner held the bugle in his hand now, and after glancing at
his watch, he raised the instrument to his lips and blew a clear call
that had the effect of hastening the steps of some of the groups that
were coming toward the hill from the Hall, the roof of which could be
seen over the tops of the trees.

Outdoor sports were made much of at Lakeview Hall, not only in the
catalogue designed for the perusal of parents, but in actual fact. "A
sound mind in a sound body" was Dr. Beulah Prescott's aim for her
pupils, and exercise was as obligatory as lessons. None was excused
without an adequate reason, and the group upon the hill grew in numbers
until it seemed as though all the members of the school were present
except the smaller girls, who had a slide of their own.

"All here except the queen," remarked Laura, as she looked around her.

"The queen?" repeated Bess Harley, staring at her.

"Queen Linda of Chicago," explained Laura, with a wicked twinkle in her
eye.

"For goodness' sake, don't ever let Linda Riggs hear you say anything
like that, Laura Polk," admonished Bess. "She's so conceited that she
wouldn't know it was sarcasm. She'd think it was a tribute drawn from an
unwilling admirer."

"I know," laughed Laura. "It doesn't take much to set her up. If she had
water on the brain, she'd think she was the whole ocean."

"Here she comes now," remarked Nan, after the laughter caused by Laura's
sally had subsided.

A tall girl, wearing expensive furs and having a supercilious air, came
along with two or three companions. It was noticeable that she left to
them the work of drawing the bobsled, while she sauntered along,
ostentatiously adjusting her furs as though she sought to call attention
to their quality.

"Hurry up, Linda," called out Laura. "I believe you'd be late at your
own funeral."

"I never get anywhere early," snapped Linda. "It isn't good form. When I
go to the theater I always get in late. I always have the best seat that
money can buy reserved for me, so what's the use of hurrying? Of course
it's different when one has to go early and scramble for a seat."

"That may be your habit in Chicago, but it isn't in favor here, Miss
Riggs," said Professor Krenner dryly. "But now that all seem to be here,
we'll start the races. You understand that all sleds are to keep three
minutes apart so as to avoid accident. The course is straight out on the
lake, and the best two out of three trials win the race. Miss Sherwood,
since you are nearest the starting line, suppose you get your sled in
position to lead off. Not so fast, Miss Riggs," he went on, as Linda
tried to shove her sled to the crest of the hill. "I said Miss Sherwood
was to go first."

"I don't see why I should have to wait," pouted Linda, as she
reluctantly drew back her sled before the decided look in the
professor's eye. "Hateful old thing," she remarked in a low voice to her
special friend and intimate, Cora Courtney. "He favors Sherwood because
she attends his poky old lectures on architectural drawing and pretends
she likes them."

"I shouldn't be surprised if that were just it," replied Cora, who made
a habit of agreeing with the rich friend whose friendship often proved
profitable to Cora.