No Great Mischief by Alistair MacLeod

cold that can fool those who confuse the shining of the winter sun with warmth. Relatives visiting my grandparents’ house said that my brothers had arrived at their destination and would not be coming back until, perhaps, the next day.
    My parents distributed their purchases into haversacks, which were always at my grandparent’s house, and which they used for carrying supplies upon their backs. Because my parents’ backs would be burdened and because my brothers were not there, it was decided that my sister and I would “spend the night” and that our brothers would take us back to the island when they returned. It was suggested that Colin also might stay, but he was insistent that he go, so that he might test the long-anticipatedwarmth of the new parka. When they left, the sun was still shining, although it had begun to decline, and they took two storm lanterns which might serve as lights or signs and signals for the last part of the trip. My mother carried one and Colin the other, while my father grasped the ice pole in his hand. When they set out, they first had to walk about a mile along the shore until they reached the appropriate place to “get on” the ice and then they started across, following the route of the spruce trees which my father had set out.
    Everyone could see their three dark forms and the smaller one of the dog outlined upon the whiteness over which they travelled. By the time they were halfway across, it was dusk and out there on the ice they lit their lanterns, and that too was seen from the shore. And then they continued on their way. Then the lanterns seemed to waver and almost to dance wildly, and one described an arc in what was now the darkness and then was still. Grandpa watched for almost a minute to be sure of what he was seeing and then he shouted to my grandmother, “There is something wrong out on the ice. There is only one light and it is not moving.”
    My grandmother came quickly to the window. “Perhaps they stopped,” she said. “Perhaps they’re resting. Perhaps they had to adjust their packs. Perhaps they had to relieve themselves.”
    “But there is only one light,” said Grandpa, “and it is not moving at all.”
    “Perhaps that’s it,” said Grandma hopefully. “The other light blew out and they’re trying to get it started.”
    My sister and I were playing on the kitchen floor with Grandma’s cutlery. We were playing “store,” taking turns buyingthe spoons and knives and forks from each other with a supply of pennies from a jar Grandma kept in her lower cupboard for emergencies.
    “The light is still not moving,” said Grandpa and he began hurriedly to pull on his winter clothes and boots, even as the phone began ringing. “The light is not moving. The light is not moving,” the voices said. “They’re in trouble out on the ice.”
    And then the voices spoke in the hurriedness of exchange: “Take a rope.” “Take some ice poles.” “Take a blanket that we can use as a stretcher.” “Take brandy.” “We will meet you at the corner. Don’t start across without us.”
    “I have just bought all his spoons and knives,” said my sister proudly from the kitchen floor, “and I still have all these pennies left.”
    “Good for you,” said Grandma. “A penny saved is a penny earned.”
    When they were partway to the shore, their lights picked up the dog’s eyes, and she ran to Grandpa when he called to her in Gaelic, and she leaped up to his chest and his outstretched arms and licked his face even as he threw his mitts from his hands so he could bury them deep within the fur upon her back.
    “She was coming to get us,” he said. “They’ve gone under.”
    “Not under,” someone said. “Perhaps down but not under.”
    “I think under,” said Grandpa. “She was under, anyway. She’s soaked to the spine. She’s smart and she’s a good swimmer and she’s got a heavy, layered coat. If she just went down, she’d be down and up in a