The girl worked hard at it; she was out every morning practicing. Mifalda knew this because whenever she could sneak away she came to the pond to watch the Irish Girl. Sometimes the girl went around in circles on one foot, stopping every once in a while to check the markings she'd made on the ice. She was graceful when she made the circles, with her hands held out just so and her toes pointed, but that wasn't what Mifalda waited to see. Eventually the Irish Girl would start skating in curved strokes that went so fast, she barely seemed to touch the surface of the pond. Her arms extended, her skirt would ruffle around her legs in the wind she made. That was what brought Mifalda to the park.

Today the girl dispensed with the circles and started going fast right away. What was it like to be free like that? To show off your pretty legs in a short skirt and fly? She's younger than I am, but I already had a husband to care for and a house to tend when I was her age, Mifalda thought. I never had a chance to be free. And my legs are as pretty as hers.

Suddenly, the Irish Girl turned backwards and stuck her toe in the ice so she could jump. Then, Mifalda knew, she would turn around in the air and land on one skate going forward. Mifalda held her breath; the girl had tried to do this many times before, and often when she did, she fell. But it seemed that this was going to be one of the good times. The girl jumped, turned, came down as gently as a bird landing on a tree branch, and swooped off again. Mifalda watched her triumph and she felt as if she and the Irish Girl were skating together—two wild, free creatures who didn't have laundry to wash or floors to scrub, they were just flying and showing off their pretty legs. Mifalda laughed out loud at the joy of it.

The Irish Girl heard her and was startled, not aware that she was being watched. She stopped skating and stood in the middle of the pond, looking around. Mifalda wanted to run, but she couldn't move.

The Irish Girl spotted her. “Hey,” she called out.

Whatever had been holding Mifalda back released her and she started to run up the snowy path. She ran away from the pond and the Irish Girl, who was still calling to her. She ran out of the park and through the streets until she was standing in front of her house. The big, warm house her good husband provided for her and her children to be safe. The house she did not deserve. She shivered—and not just from the cold.