On the other side of the lake were other ice-boats, and Bert wished he
could have a race with some of them. But he knew his mother would not like
that now.
"Can't you make it go a little slower?" asked Flossie, after a bit. "Every
time I open my mouth it gets filled with cold air, and it makes me want to
sneeze."
"I can't go any slower than the wind blows," answered Bert. "Turn your
back to the bow, or front end of the boat, and you can open your mouth
easier then."
Flossie did as she was told and felt better. Meanwhile the _Bird_ was
living up to her name, and skimming along swiftly. Bert held to the
steering handle, now and then tightening or loosening the rope that was
fast to the sail.
"Want any help?" asked his father.
"No, thank you, Dad. I want to manage it all by myself as long as I can."
"Isn't it my turn to steer?" asked Freddie, when they were half-way down
the lake, toward the end farthest from the town, where there were deep
woods on either side.
"No, not yet!" exclaimed Bert "Don't touch anything, Freddie!" he went on,
for his little brother was reaching out toward the sail. "I'll have to
wait until the wind doesn't blow so strong before I can let your steer,
Freddie."
"But I want to steer when we're going _fast!_" cried the little fellow. "I
know how to do it. You just----"
Freddie never finished what he was saying. Whether he touched anything, or
whether Bert was afraid he would, and so pulled on the wrong rope to keep
it out of Freddie's way, was never known.
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