"Patient they may be, but as for skating, they start off pretty
well, only to finish with a jerk. They could move well to your
new staccato piece, I think."

Hilda laughed pleasantly and left him. After joining a small
detachment of the racers and sailing past every one of them, she
halted beside Gretel, who, with eager eyes, had been watching the
sport.

"What is your name, little girl?"

"Gretel, my lady," answered the child, somewhat awed by Hilda's
rank, though they were nearly of the same age, "and my brother is
called Hans."

"Hans is a stout fellow," said Hilda cheerily, "and seems to have
a warm stove somewhere within him, but YOU look cold. You
should wear more clothing, little one."

Gretel, who had nothing else to wear, tried to laugh as she
answered, "I am not so very little. I am past twelve years old."

"Oh, I beg your pardon. You see, I am nearly fourteen, and so
large for my age that other girls seem small to me, but that is
nothing. Perhaps you will shoot up far above me yet, but not
unless you dress more warmly, though. Shivering girls never
grow."

Hans flushed as he saw tears rising in Gretel's eyes.