ing," said her brother. "We can coast clear to the elbow, I bet you."
He hurried through his breakfast and some time after Laura and her father started for the jewelry store, in which the girl had certain Saturday morning tasks to perform, the voices of Chet and his friends awoke the echoes of the street as they skated on the asphalt.
Whiffle Street was an easy slope toward the elbow, where Jess Morse and her mother lived. Although the keen wind blew pretty strongly right up the hill, when Laura and her father started for the store the boys were holding hands and in a line that swept the street from curb to curb, sailed gaily down the hill upon their skates.
"That's fun!" exclaimed Laura, her cheeks rosy with the wind, and her eyes sparkling.
"It's just like life," said her father. "It's easy going down hill; but see what a pull it is to get up again," for Chet and his comrades had then begun the homeward skate.
Lance Darby, a fair-haired, rosy-cheeked lad, who was Chet's particular chum, was ahead and he came, puffingly, to a stop just before Laura.
"This is great—if it wasn't for the 'getting back again.' Good-morning, Mr. Belding."
