"Who ever
heard of a little boy with a brand-new pair of skates and ice on the
pond, not going skating, Olive? Sunny Boy is just as polite as he ever
was, Olive, but we have to go skating, whether we have company or not."
"Oh, Father, how you do spoil Sunny Boy!" cried Mrs. Horton,
half-laughing. But she kissed them both and waved to them as they went
off, the new skates dangling over Sunny Boy's arm and buckled together
with a leather strap just as the big boys tie their skates.
"Can you skate, Grandpa?" the little boy asked, as they trudged along,
Grandpa's rosy face and white mustache showing above a gray and white
muffler and Sunny Boy's pink cheeks and dancing eyes set off by a
muffler of scarlet wool. "Will you go skating with me?"
"Why, I haven't been skating for thirty years!" exclaimed Grandpa
Horton. "I don't know whether I have forgotten or not, Sunny Boy. But
I have no skates, you see, and I shall not get any because I don't
expect to go skating often this winter. I'll get you started, and then
this winter, when we go home, Grandma and I will be able to think of
you having fine times on the ice."
Wilkins Park was several blocks from the Horton's house, but Sunny Boy
and his grandfather liked to walk, and though it was a cold day they
tucked their hands in their coat pockets and walked fast and were very
comfortable. The best skating pond in Centronia--indeed about the only
good pond--was in the center of the Park, and long before Sunny Boy and
his grandfather came in sight of the Park they saw boys and girls with
skates over their arms, hurrying to the pond.
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