grandpa and his feet are wet and his hands are so cold they ache.

"Are you lost, little boy?" he asked.

He was a short man, and he stared at Sunny Boy so hard through round,
black-rimmed Spectacles that the little boy felt rather uncomfortable.

"No, thank you, I'm not lost," he answered politely. "But my grandpa
is. I can't find him anywhere."

"Well, well, you don't tell me!" replied the man eagerly. "Why, I
heard a grandfather saying back there in the crowd that he was looking
for his little grandson. Come along and I'll help you find him."

The short man was very kind, for he knelt down and unbuckled the
stubborn skate straps and tied them over Sunny Boy's arm. Then he took
his hand and led him back into the crowd up to a worried-looking old
gentleman.

"Excuse me, sir, I think I've found your little grandson," he said. "I
discovered this little fellow over by the edge of the pond. He is
looking for his grandpa."

The worried-looking old gentleman was tall and thin. He had no white
mustache and no gray-and-white muffler. He was not Grandpa Horton at
all.

"What ails the man!" cried this grandpa, glaring at the short man. "I
am looking for my granddaughter and he brings me a lost boy!"