many a merry day.

There was a good run down the road to the post village beneath; another,
excellent, down a neighbouring pass. But the best run of all started
from high up on the hillside, crossed the village street, and undulated
down the hillside pastures to the frozen Inn river below--a splendid
course of two miles in all. But as a matter of precaution it was
strictly forbidden ever to be used--at least in that part of it which
crossed the village street. For such projectiles as laden toboggans,
passing across the trunk line of the village traffic at an average rate
of a mile a minute, were hardly less dangerous than cannon-balls, and of
much more erratic flight.

Nevertheless, there was seldom a night when we did not risk all the
penalties which existed in the city of Bergsdorf, by defying all powers
and regulations whatsoever and running the hill-course in the teeth of
danger.

I remember one clear, starlight night with the snow casting up just
enough pallid light to see by. Half a dozen of us--Henry and myself, a
young Swiss doctor newly diplomaëd, the adventurous advocate of the
place, and several others--went up to make our nightly venture. We gave
half a minute's law to the first starter, and then followed on. I was
placed first, mainly because of the excellence of my Canadian iceship.
As I drew away, the snow sped beneath; the exhilarating madness of the
ride entered into my blood. I whooped with sheer delight.... There was a
curve or two in the road, and at the critical moment, by shifting the
weight of my body and just touching the snow with the point of the short
iron-shod stick I held in my hand, the toboggan span round the curve
with the delicious clean cut of a skate. It seemed only a moment, and