as profane persons no doubt did when the windows of heaven were opened in Noah’s time. The skateresses did not swear, but savagely said, “It is too bad,” — and so it was.
Wade, loaded with the blessings of his Directors, took the train next morning for Dunderbunk.
The weather was still mild and drizzly, but promised to clear. As the train rattled along by the river, Wade could see that the thin ice was breaking up everywhere. In mid-stream a procession of blocks was steadily drifting along. Unless Zero came sliding down again pretty soon from Boreal regions, the sheets that filled the coves and clung to the shores would also sail away southward, and the whole Hudson be left clear as in midsummer.
At Yonkers a down train ranged by the side of Wade’s train, and, looking out he saw Mr. and Mrs. Skerrett alighting.
He jumped down, rather surprised, to speak to them.
“We have just been telegraphed here,” said Peter, gravely. “The son of a widow, a friend of ours, was drowned this morning in the soft ice of the river. He was a pet of mine, poor fellow! and the mother depends upon me for advice. We have come down to say a kind word. Why won’t you report us to the ladies at my house, and say we shall not be at home until the evening train? They do not know the cause of our journey except that it is a sad one.”
