Hans Brinker; Or, The Silver Skates

Peter remarked maliciously that the women had still proved true to their vanity on that occasion, for jewelry they would have. If gold or silver were wanted by the kingdom, they would relinquish it and use iron, but they could not do without their ornaments.

"What of that?" said the vrouw, kindling again. "It is no sin to love beautiful things, if you adapt your material to circumstances. All I have to say is, the women saved their country and, indirectly, introduced a very important branch of manufacture. Is not that so, Jasper?"

"Of course it is, sweetheart," said mynheer, "but Peter needs no word of mine to convince him that all the world over, women have never been found wanting in their country's hour of trial, though (bowing to Mevrouw) his own countrywomen stand foremost in the records of female patriotism and devotion."

Then turning to Ben, the host talked with him in English of the fine old Belgian city. Among other things, he told the origin of its name. Ben had been taught that Antwerp was derived from ae'nt werf (on the wharf), but Mynheer van Gend gave him a far more interesting derivation.

It appears that about three thousand years ago, a great giant, named Antigonus, lived on the river Scheld, on the site of the present city of Antwerp. This giant claimed half the merchandise of all navigators who passed his castle. Of course some were inclined to oppose this simple regulation. In such cases, Antigonus, by way of teaching them to practice better manners next time, cut off and threw into the river the right hands of the merchants. Thus hand-werpen (or hand-throwing), changed to Antwerp, came to be the name of the place. The escutcheon or arms of the city has two hands upon it; what better proof than this could one have of the truth of the story, especially when one wishes to believe it!

The giant was finally conquered and thrown into the Scheld by a hero called Brabo, who in turn gave a name to the district known as Brabant. Since then the Dutch merchants have traveled the river in peace; but I for one thank old Antigonus for giving the city so romantic an origin.

When Mynheer van Gend had related in two languages this story of Antwerp, he was tempted to tell other legends—some in English, some in Dutch; and so the moments, borne upon the swift shoulders of gnomes and giants, glided rapidly away toward bedtime.

It was hard to break up so pleasant a party, but the Van Gend household moved with the regularity of clockwork. There was no lingering at the threshold when the cordial "good-night!" was spoken. Even while our boys were mounting the stairs, the invisible household fairies again clustered around them, whispering that system and regularity had been chief builders of the master's prosperity.

Beautiful chambers with three beds in them, were not to be found in this mansion. Some of the rooms contained two, but each visitor slept alone. Before morning, the motto of the party evidently was, "every boy his own chrysalis"—and Peter, at least, was not sorry to have it so.

Tired as he was, Ben after noting a curious bell-rope in the corner, began to examine his bedclothes. Each article filled him with astonishment—the exquisitely fine pillow-spread trimmed with costly lace and embroidered with a gorgeous crest and initial, the dekbed cover (a great silk bag, large as the bed, stuffed with swan's-down) and the pink satin quilts, embroidered with garlands of flowers. He could scarcely sleep for thinking what a queer little bed it was, so comfortable and pretty, too, with all its queerness. In the morning he examined the top coverlet with care, for he wished to send home a description of it in his next letter. It was a Japanese spread, marvelous in texture as well as in its variety of brilliant coloring, and worth, as Ben afterward learned, not less than three hundred dollars.

The floor was of polished wooden mosaic, nearly covered with a rich carpet bordered with thick, black fringe. Another room displayed a margin of satin-wood around the carpet. Hung with tapestry, its walls of crimson silk were topped with a gilded cornice which shot down gleams of light far into the polished floor.

Over the doorway of the room in which Jacob and Ben slept was a bronze stork who, with outstretched neck, held a lamp to light the guests into the apartment. Between the two narrow beds, of carved white-wood and ebony, stood the household treasure of the Van Gends, a massive oaken chair upon which the Prince of Orange had once sat, during a council meeting. Opposite, stood a quaintly carved clothes-press, waxed and polished to the utmost, and filled with precious stores of linen; beside it a table holding a large Bible, whose great golden clasps looked poor compared with its solid, ribbed binding made to outlast six generations.

There was a ship model on the mantel-shelf, and over it hung an old portrait of Peter the Great, who, you know, once gave the dockyard cats of Holland a fine chance to look at a king, which is one of the special prerogatives of cats. Peter, though czar of Russia, was not too proud to work as a common shipwright in the dockyards of Saardam and Amsterdam, that he might be able to introduce among his countrymen Dutch improvements in ship-building. It was this willingness to be thorough in even the smallest beginnings that earned for him the title of Peter the Great.

Peter the little (comparatively speaking) was up first, the next morning; knowing the punctual habits of his brother-in-law, he took good care that none of the boys should oversleep themselves. A hard task he found it to wake Jacob Poot; but after pulling that young gentleman out of bed, and, with Ben's help, dragging him about the room for a while, he succeeded in arousing him.

While Jacob was dressing, and moaning within him, because the felt slippers, provided him as a guest, were too tight for his swollen feet, Peter wrote to inform their friends at Broek of the safe arrival of his party at the Hague. He also begged his mother to send word to Hans Brinker that Dr. Boekman had not yet reached Leyden, but that a letter containing Hans' message had been left at the hotel, where the doctor always lodged during his visits to the city. "Tell him, also," wrote Peter, "that I shall call there again, as I pass through Leyden. The poor boy seemed to feel sure that 'the meester' would hasten to save his father, but we, who know the gruff old gentleman better, may be confident he will do no such thing. It would be a kindness to send a visiting physician from Amsterdam to the cottage at once, if Jufvrouw[25] Brinker will consent to receive any but the great king of the meesters, as Dr. Boekman certainly is.

"You know, mother," added Peter, "that I have always considered sister Van Gend's house as rather quiet and lonely; but I assure you, it is not so now. Sister says our presence has warmed it for the whole winter. Brother van Gend is very kind to us all. He says we make him wish that he had a houseful of boys of his own. He has promised to let us ride on his noble black horses. They are gentle as kittens, he says, if one have but a firm touch at the rein. Ben, according to Jacob's account, is a glorious rider, and your son Peter is not a very bad hand at the business; so we two are to go out together this morning mounted like knights of old. After we return, brother van Gend says he will lend Jacob his English pony and obtain three extra horses; and all of the party are to trot about the city, in a grand cavalcade, led on by him. He will ride the black horse which father sent him from Friesland. My sister's pretty roan with the long white tail is lame and she will ride none other; else she would accompany us. I could scarce close my eyes last night after sister told me of the plan. Only the thought of poor Hans Brinker and his sick father checked me—but for that I could have sung for joy. Ludwig has given us a name already—the Broek Cavalry. We flatter ourselves that we shall make an imposing appearance, especially in single file...."

The Broek Cavalry were not disappointed. Mynheer van Gend readily procured good horses; and all the boys could ride, though none were as perfect horsemen (or horseboys) as Peter and Ben. They saw the Hague to their hearts' content; and the Hague saw them—expressing its approbation, loudly, through the mouths of small boys and cart-dogs; silently, through bright eyes that, not looking very deeply into things, shone as they looked at the handsome Carl, and twinkled with fun as a certain portly youth with shaking cheeks rode past "bumpetty, bumpetty, bump!"

On their return, the boys pronounced the great porcelain stove in the family sitting-room a decidedly useful piece of furniture, for they could gather round it and get warm without burning their noses or bringing on chilblains. It was so very large that, though hot no-where, it seemed to send out warmth by the houseful—Its pure white sides and polished brass rings made it a pretty object to look upon, notwithstanding the fact that our ungrateful Ben, while growing thoroughly warm and comfortable beside it, concocted a satirical sentence for his next letter, to the effect that a stove in Holland must of course resemble a great tower of snow or it wouldn't be in keeping with the oddity of the country.

To describe all the boys saw and did on that day and the next, would render this little book a formidable volume indeed. They visited the brass cannon foundry, saw the liquid fire poured into moulds and watched the smiths who, half naked, stood in the shadow, like demons playing with flame. They admired the grand public buildings and massive private houses, the elegant streets, and noble Bosch—pride of all beauty-loving Hollanders. The palace with its brilliant mosaic floors, its frescoed ceilings and gorgeous ornament, filled Ben with delight; he was surprised that some of the churches were so very plain—elaborate sometimes in external architecture, but bare and bleak within with their blank, whitewashed walls.

If there were no printed record, the churches of Holland would almost tell her story. I will not enter into the subject here, except to say that Ben—who had read of her struggles and wrongs, and of the terrible retribution she from time to time dealt forth—could scarcely tread a Holland town without mentally leaping horror-stricken over the bloody stepping-stones of its history. He could not forget Philip of Spain nor the Duke of Alva even while rejoicing in the prosperity that followed the Liberation. He looked in the meekest of Dutch eyes, for something of the fire that once lit the haggard faces of those desperate, lawless men, who wearing with pride the title of "beggars" which their oppressors had mockingly cast upon them, became the terror of land and sea. In Haarlem, he had wondered that the air did not still resound with the cries of Alva's three thousand victims. In Leyden, his heart had swelled in sympathy as he thought of the long procession of scarred and famished creatures who after the siege, with Adrian van der Werf at their head, tottered to the great church to sing a glorious anthem because Leyden was free! He remembered that this was even before they had tasted the bread brought by the Dutch ships. They would praise God first, then eat. Thousands of trembling voices were raised in glad thanksgiving. For a moment, it swelled higher and higher—then suddenly changed to sobbing—not one of all the multitude could sing another note. But who shall say that the anthem, even to its very end, was not heard in Heaven!

Here, in the Hague, other thoughts came to Ben—Of how Holland in later years unwillingly put her head under the French yoke, and how, galled and lashed past endurance, she had resolutely jerked it out again. He liked her for that. What nation of any spirit, thought he, could be expected to stand such work, paying all her wealth into a foreign treasury and yielding up the flower of her youth under foreign conscription. It was not so very long ago, either, since English guns had been heard booming close by in the German Ocean; well—all the fighting was over at last. Holland was a snug little monarchy now in her own right, and Ben, for one, was glad of it. Arrived at this charitable conclusion, he was prepared to enjoy to the utmost all the wonders of her capital; he quite delighted Mynheer van Gend with his hearty and intelligent interest—so, in fact, did all the boys, for a merrier, more observant party never went sightseeing.

XXVIII

THROUGH THE HAGUE

The picture gallery, in the Maurits Huis,[26] one of the finest in the world, seemed only to have flashed by the boys during a two hours' visit, so much was there to admire and examine. As for the Royal Cabinet of curiosities, in the same building, they felt that they had but glanced at it though they were there nearly half a day. It seemed to them that Japan had poured all her treasures within its walls. For a long period, Holland, always foremost in commerce, was the only nation allowed to have any intercourse with Japan. One can well forego a journey to that country if he can but visit the Museum at the Hague.

Room after room is filled with collections from the Hermit Empire—Costumes peculiar to various ranks and pursuits, articles of ornament, household utensils, weapons, armor and surgical instruments. There is also an ingenious Japanese model of the Island of Desina, the Dutch factory in Japan. It appears almost as the Island itself would if seen through a reversed opera-glass, and makes one feel like a Gulliver coming unexpectedly upon a Japanese Lilliput. There you see hundreds of people in native costumes, standing, kneeling, stooping, reaching—all at work, or pretending to be—and their dwellings, even their very furniture, spread out before you, plain as day. In another room a huge tortoise shell baby-house fitted up in Dutch style and inhabited by dignified Dutch dolls, stands ready to tell you at a glance how people live in Holland.

Gretel, Hilda, Katrinka, even the proud Rychie Korbes, would have been delighted with this; but Peter and his gallant band passed it by without a glance. The war implements had the honor of detaining them for an hour; such clubs, such murderous krits, or daggers, such firearms, and, above all, such wonderful Japanese swords, quite capable of performing the accredited Japanese feat, of cutting a man in two at a single stroke!

There were Chinese and other oriental curiosities in the collection. Native historical relics, too, upon which our young Dutchmen gazed very soberly, though they were secretly proud to show them to Ben.

There was a model of the cabin at Saardam in which Peter the Great lived during his short career as a ship-builder. Also, wallets and bowls—once carried by the "Beggar" Confederates who, uniting under the Prince of Orange, had freed Holland from the tyranny of Spain; the sword of Admiral Van Speyk who about ten years before had perished in voluntarily blowing up his own ship; and Van Tromp's armor with the marks of bullets upon it. Jacob looked around, hoping to see the broom which the plucky admiral fastened to his mast-head—but it was not there. The waistcoat which William Third[27] of England wore during the last days of his life, possessed great interest for Ben; and one and all gazed with a mixture of reverence and horror-worship at the identical clothing worn by William the Silent{1} when he was murdered at Delft by Balthazar Geraerts. A tawny leather doublet and plain surcoat of gray cloth, a soft felt hat, and a high neck-ruff from which hung one of the "Beggars'" medals—these were not in themselves very princely objects, though the doublet had a tragic interest from its dark stains, and bullet holes. Ben could readily believe, as he looked upon the garments, that the Silent Prince, true to his greatness of character, had been exceedingly simple in his attire. His aristocratic prejudices were, however, decidedly shocked when Lambert told him of the way in which William's bride first entered the Hague.

"The beautiful Louisa de Coligny, whose father and former husband both had fallen at the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, was coming to be fourth wife to the Prince, and of course," said Lambert, "we Hollanders were too gallant to allow the lady to enter the town on foot. No, sir, we sent (or rather my ancestors did) a clean, open post-wagon to meet her, with a plank across it for her to sit upon!"

"Very gallant indeed!" exclaimed Ben with almost a sneer in his polite laugh—"and she the daughter of an Admiral of France."

"Was she? Upon my word I had nearly forgotten that. But, you see Holland had very plain ways in the good old time, in fact we are a very simple, frugal people to this day. The Van Gend establishment is a decided exception, you know."

"A very agreeable exception, I think," said Ben.

"Certainly, certainly. But, between you and me, Mynheer van Gend, though he has wrought his own fortunes, can afford to be magnificent, and yet be frugal."

"Exactly so," said Ben profoundly; at the same time stroking his upper lip and chin, which latterly he believed had been showing delightful and unmistakable signs of coming dignities.

While tramping on foot through the city, Ben often longed for a good English sidewalk. Here, as in the other towns, there was no curb, no raised pavement for foot travelers—but the streets were clean and even, and all vehicles were kept scrupulously within a certain tract. Strange to say, there were nearly as many sleds as wagons to be seen, though there was not a particle of snow. The sleds went scraping over the bricks or cobblestones; some provided with an apparatus in front for sprinkling water, to diminish the friction, and some rendered less musical by means of a dripping oil rag, which the driver occasionally applied to the runners.

Ben was surprised at the noiseless way in which Dutch laborers do their work. Even around the warehouses and docks there was no bustle, no shouting from one to another. A certain twitch of the pipe, or turn of the head or, at most, a raising of the hand, seemed to be all the signal necessary. Entire loads of cheeses or herrings are pitched from cart or canal-boat into the warehouses without a word; but the passer-by must take his chance of being pelted, for a Dutchman seldom looks before or behind him while engaged at work.

Poor Jacob Poot, who seemed destined to bear all the mishaps of the journey, was knocked nearly breathless by a great cheese, which a fat Dutchman was throwing to a fellow-laborer; but he recovered himself, and passed on without evincing the least indignation.

Ben professed great sympathy on the occasion, but Jacob insisted that it was "notting."

"Then why did you screw your face so when it hit you?"

"What for screw mine face?" repeated Jacob soberly; "vy, it vash de—de——"

"The what?" insisted Ben, maliciously.

"Vy, de—de—vat you call dis, vat you taste mit de nose?"

Ben laughed.

"Oh, you mean the smell."

"Yesh. Dat ish it," said Jacob eagerly—"it wash de shmell. I draw mine face for dat!"

"Ha! ha!" roared Ben, "that's a good one. A Dutch boy smell a cheese. You can never make me believe that!"

"Vell, it ish no matter," replied Jacob, trudging on beside Ben in perfect good humor—"vait till you hit mit cheese—dat ish all."

Soon he added pathetically—"Penchamin, I no likes be call Tutch—dat ish no goot. I bees a Hollander."

Just as Ben was apologizing, Lambert hailed him.

"Hold up! Ben. Here is the Fish Market. There is not much to be seen at this season. But we can take a look at the storks if you wish."

Ben knew that storks were held in peculiar reverence in Holland, and that the bird figured upon the arms of the Capital. He had noticed cart-wheels placed upon the roofs of Dutch cottages to entice storks to settle upon them; he had seen their huge nests, too, on many a thatched gable roof from Broek to the Hague. But it was winter now. The nests were empty. No greedy birdlings opened their mouths—or rather their heads—at the approach of a great white winged thing, with outstretched neck and legs, bearing a dangling something for their breakfast. The long-bills were far away, picking up food on African shores; and before they would return in the Spring, Ben's visit to the land of dykes would be over.

Therefore he pressed eagerly forward, as Van Mounen led the way through the fish market, anxious to see if storks in Holland were anything like the melancholy specimens he had seen in the Zoölogical Gardens of London.

It was the same old story. A tamed bird is a sad bird, say what you will. These storks lived in a sort of kennel, chained by the feet like felons, though supposed to be honored by being kept at the public expense. In summer they were allowed to walk about the market, where the fish-stalls were like so many free dining-saloons to them. Untasted delicacies in the form of raw fish and butcher's offals, lay about their kennels now, but the city-guests preferred to stand upon one leg, curving back their long neck and leaning their head sidewise, in a blinking reverie. How gladly they would have changed their petted state, for the busy life of some hard-working stork mother, or father, bringing up a troublesome family on the roof of a rickety old building, where flapping windmills frightened them half to death every time they ventured forth on a frolic.

Ben soon made up his mind, and rightly, too, that the Hague with its fine streets and public parks shaded with elms, was a magnificent city. The prevailing costume was like that of London or Paris, and his British ears were many a time cheered by the music of British words. The shops were different in many respects from those on Oxford Street and the Strand, but they often were illumined by a printed announcement that English was "spoken within." Others proclaimed themselves to have London Stout for sale—and one actually promised to regale its customers with English roast beef.

Over every possible shop-door was the never-failing placard, "Tabak te Koop" (tobacco to be sold). Instead of colored glass globes in the windows, or high jars of leeches, the drug-stores had a gaping Turk's head at the entrance—or, if the establishment were particularly fine, a wooden mandarin entire, indulging in a full yawn.

Some of these queer faces amused Ben exceedingly; they seemed to have just swallowed a dose of physic; but Van Mounen declared he could not see anything funny about them. A druggist showed his sense by putting a Gaper before his door, so that his place could be known at once as an "apotheek" and that was all there was about it.

Another thing attracted Ben—the milkmen's carts. These were small affairs, filled with shiny brass kettles, or stone jars, and drawn by dogs. The milkman walked meekly beside his cart, keeping his dog in order, and delivering the milk to customers. Certain fish dealers had dog-carts, also, and when a herring-dog chanced to meet a milk-dog, he invariably put on airs and growled as he passed him. Sometimes a milk-dog would recognize an acquaintance before another milk-cart across the street, and then how the kettles would rattle, especially if they were empty! Each dog would give a bound and, never caring for his master's whistle, insist upon meeting the other half-way. Sometimes they contented themselves with an inquisitive sniff, but generally the smaller dog made an affectionate snap at the larger one's ear, or a friendly tussle was engaged in by way of exercise. Then wo! to the milk kettles, and wo! to the dogs!

The whipping over, each dog, expressing his feelings as best he could, would trot leisurely back to his work.

If some of these animals were eccentric in their ways, others were remarkably well-behaved. In fact, there was a school for dogs in the city, established expressly for training them; Ben probably saw some of its graduates. Many a time he noticed a span of barkers trotting along the street with all the dignity of horses, obeying the slightest hint of the man walking briskly beside them. Sometimes, when their load was delivered, the dealer would jump in the cart, and have a fine drive to his home beyond the gates of the city; and sometimes, I regret to say, a patient vrouw would trudge beside the cart, with fish-basket upon her head, and a child in her arms—while her lord enjoyed his drive, carrying no heavier burden than a stumpy clay pipe, the smoke of which mounted lovingly into her face.

XXIX

A DAY OF REST

The sightseeing came to an end at last, and so did our boys' visit to the Hague. They had spent three happy days and nights with the Van Gends, and, strange to say, had not once, in all that time, put on skates. The third day had indeed been one of rest. The noise and bustle of the city was hushed; sweet Sunday bells sent blessed, tranquil thoughts into their hearts. Ben felt, as he listened to their familiar music, that the Christian world is one, after all, however divided by sects and differences it may be. As the clock speaks every one's native language in whatever land it may strike the hour, so church-bells are never foreign if our hearts but listen.

Led on by those clear voices, our party, with Mevrouw van Gend and her husband, trod the quiet but crowded streets, until they came to a fine old church in the southern part of the city.

The interior was large and, notwithstanding its great stained windows, seemed dimly lighted, though the walls were white, and dashes of red and purple sunshine lay brightly upon pillar and pew.

Ben saw a few old women moving softly through the aisles, each bearing a high pile of foot-stoves which she distributed among the congregation by skillfully slipping out the under one, until none were left. It puzzled him that mynheer should settle himself with the boys in a comfortable side-pew, after seating his vrouw in the body of the church, which was filled with chairs exclusively appropriated to the women. But Ben was learning only a common custom of the country.

The pews of the nobility and the dignitaries of the city were circular in form, each surrounding a column. Elaborately carved, they formed a massive base to their great pillars standing out in bold relief against the blank, white walls beyond. These columns, lofty and well-proportioned, were nicked and defaced from violence done to them long ago; yet it seemed quite fitting that, before they were lost in the deep arches overhead, their softened outlines should leaf out as they did into richness and beauty.

Soon, Ben lowered his gaze to the marble floor. It was a pavement of gravestones. Nearly all the large slabs, of which it was composed, marked the resting-places of the dead. An armorial design engraved upon each stone, with inscription and date, told whose form was sleeping beneath, and sometimes three of a family were lying one above the other in the same sepulchre.

He could not but think of the solemn funeral procession winding by torch-light through those lofty aisles, and bearing its silent burden toward a dark opening whence a slab had been lifted, in readiness for its coming. It was something to feel that his sister Mabel, who died in her flower, was lying in a sunny church-yard, where a brook rippled and sparkled in the daylight, and waving trees whispered together all night long; where flowers might nestle close to the headstone and moon and stars shed their peace upon it, and morning birds sing sweetly overhead.

Then he looked up from the pavement and rested his eyes upon the carved, oaken pulpit, exquisitely beautiful in design and workmanship. He could not see the minister—though, not long before, he had watched him slowly ascending its winding stair—a mild-faced man wearing a ruff about his neck, and a short cloak reaching nearly to the knee.

Meantime the great church had been silently filling. Its pews were sombre with men and its centre radiant with women in their fresh Sunday attire. Suddenly a soft rustling spread through the building. All eyes were turned toward the minister now appearing above the pulpit.

Although the sermon was spoken slowly, Ben could understand little of what was said; but when the hymn came, he joined in with all his heart. A thousand voices lifted in love and praise, offered a grander language that he could readily comprehend.

Once he was startled, during a pause in the service, by seeing a little bag suddenly shaken before him. It had a tinkling bell at its side, and was attached to a long stick carried by one of the deacons of the church. Not relying solely upon the mute appeal of the poor-boxes fastened to the columns near the entrance, this more direct method was resorted to, of awaking the sympathies of the charitable.

Fortunately Ben had provided himself with a few stivers, or the musical bag must have tinkled before him in vain.

More than once, a dark look rose on our English boy's face that morning. He longed to stand up and harangue the people concerning a peculiarity that filled him with pain. Some of the men wore their hats during the service, or took them off whenever the humor prompted, and many put theirs on in the church as soon as they arose to leave. No wonder Ben's sense of propriety was wounded; and yet a higher sense would have been exercised had he tried to feel willing that Hollanders should follow the customs of their country. But his English heart said over and over again "it is outrageous! it is sinful!"

There is an Angel called Charity who often would save our hearts a great deal of trouble if we would but let her in.

XXX

HOMEWARD BOUND

On Monday morning, bright and early, our boys bade farewell to their kind entertainers and started on their homeward journey.

Peter lingered a while at the lion-guarded door, for he and his sister had many parting words to say.

As Ben saw them bidding each other "good-bye," he could not help feeling that kisses as well as clocks were wonderfully alike everywhere. The English kiss that his sister Jennie gave when he left home had said the same thing to him that the Vrouw van Gend's Dutch kiss said to Peter. Ludwig had taken his share of the farewell in the most matter-of-fact manner possible, and though he loved his sister well, had winced a little at her making such a child of him as to put an extra kiss "for mother" upon his forehead.

He was already upon the canal with Carl and Jacob. Were they thinking about sisters or kisses? Not a bit of it. They were so happy to be on skates once more, so impatient to dart at once into the very heart of Broek, that they spun and wheeled about like crazy fellows, relieving themselves, meantime, by muttering something about "Peter and donder" not worth translating.

Even Lambert and Ben who had been waiting at the street-corner began to grow impatient.

The captain joined them at last; they were soon on the canal with the rest.

"Hurry up, Peter," growled Ludwig—"we're freezing by inches—there! I knew you'd be the last after all to get on your skates!"

"Did you?" said his brother looking up with an air of deep interest—"clever boy!"

Ludwig laughed, but tried to look cross, as he said—"I'm in earnest, anyhow. We must get home some time this year."

"Now, boys," cried Peter springing up, as he fastened the last buckle. "There's a clear way before us! We will imagine it's the grand race. Ready! One—two—three—start!"

I assure you very little was said for the first half hour. They were six Mercuries skimming the ice. In plain English they went like lightning—no, that is imaginary too. The fact is, one cannot decide what to say when half a dozen boys are whizzing past at such a rate. I can only tell you that each did his best, flying, with bent body, and eager eyes, in and out among the placid skaters on the canal, until the very guard shouted to them to "hold up!" This only served to send them onward with a two-boy power that startled all beholders.

But the laws of inertia are stronger even than canal guards.

After a while Jacob slackened his speed—then Ludwig—then Lambert—then Carl.

They soon halted to take a long breath, and finally found themselves standing in a group gazing after Peter and Ben who were still racing in the distance as if their lives were at stake.

"It is very evident," said Lambert, as he and his three companions started on again, "that neither of them will give up until he can't help it."

"What foolishness!" growled Carl, "to tire themselves at the beginning of the journey—but they're racing in earnest—that's certain. Hallo! Peter's flagging!"

"Not so!" cried Ludwig—"catch him being beaten!"

"Ha! ha!" sneered Carl. "I tell you, boy, Benjamin is ahead."

Now if Ludwig disliked anything in this world, it was to be called a boy—probably because he was nothing else. He grew indignant at once.

"Humph, what are you, I wonder. There, sir! now look and see if Peter isn't ahead!"

"I think he is," interposed Lambert, "but I can't quite tell at this distance."

"I think he isn't!" retorted Carl.

Jacob was growing anxious—he always abhorred an argument—so he said in a coaxing tone—"Don't quarrel—don't quarrel!"

"Don't quarrel!" mocked Carl, looking back at Jacob as he skated. "Who's quarreling? Poot, you're a goose!"

"I can't help that," was Jacob's meek reply. "See! they are nearing the turn of the canal."

"Now we can see!" cried Ludwig in great excitement.

"Peter will make it first, I know."

"He can't—for Ben is ahead!" insisted Carl. "Gunst! That ice-boat will run over him. No! he is clear! They're a couple of geese anyhow. Hurrah! they're at the turn. Who's ahead?"

"Peter!" cried Ludwig, joyfully.

"Good for the captain!" shouted Lambert and Jacob.

And Carl condescended to mutter:

"It is Peter after all. I thought, all the time, that head fellow was Ben."

This turn in the canal had evidently been their goal, for the two racers came to a sudden halt after passing it.

Carl said something about being "glad that they had sense enough to stop and rest,"—and the four boys skated on in silence to overtake their companions.

All the while, Carl was secretly wishing that he had kept on with Peter and Ben, as he felt sure he could easily have come out winner. He was a very rapid, though by no means a graceful skater.

Ben was looking at Peter with mingled vexation, admiration and surprise, as the boys drew near.

They heard him saying in English:

"You're a perfect bird on the ice, Peter van Holp. The first fellow that ever beat me in a fair race, I can tell you!"

Peter, who understood the language better than he could speak it, returned a laughing bow at Ben's compliment, but made no further reply. Possibly he was scant of breath at the time.

"Now, Penchamin, vat you do mit yourself? get so hot as a fire-brick—dat ish no goot," was Jacob's plaintive comment.

"Nonsense!" answered Ben. "This frosty air will cool me soon enough. I am not tired."

"You are beaten, though, my boy," said Lambert in English, "and fairly, too. How will it be, I wonder, on the day of the grand race?"

Ben flushed, and gave a proud, defiant laugh, as if to say:

"This was mere pastime. I'm determined to beat then, come what will!"

XXXI

BOYS AND GIRLS

By the time the boys reached the village of Voorhout which stands near the grand canal, about half-way between the Hague and Haarlem, they were forced to hold a council. The wind, though moderate at first, had grown stronger and stronger, until at last they could hardly skate against it. The weather-vanes throughout the country had evidently entered into a conspiracy.

"No use trying to face such a blow as this," said Ludwig. "It cuts its way down a man's throat like a knife."

"Keep your mouth shut, then," grunted the affable Carl, who was strong-chested as a young ox. "I'm for keeping on."

"In this case," interposed Peter, "we must consult the weakest of the party rather than the strongest."

The captain's principle was all right, but its application was not flattering to Master Ludwig; shrugging his shoulders, he retorted:

"Who's weak? Not I, for one—but the wind's stronger than any of us. I hope you'll condescend to admit that!"

"Ha! ha!" laughed Van Mounen, who could barely keep his feet, "so it is."

Just then the weather-vanes telegraphed to each other by a peculiar twitch—and, in an instant, the gust came. It nearly threw the strong-chested Carl; it almost strangled Jacob; and quite upset Ludwig.

"This settles the question," shouted Peter; "off with your skates! We'll go into Voorhout."

At Voorhout they found a little inn with a big yard. The yard was well bricked, and better than all, was provided with a complete set of skittles, so our boys soon turned the detention into a frolic. The wind was troublesome even in that sheltered quarter, but they were on good standing-ground—and did not mind it.

First a hearty dinner—then the game. With pins as long as their arms, and balls as big as their heads, plenty of strength left for rolling, and a clean sweep of sixty yards for the strokes—no wonder they were happy.

That night Captain Peter and his men slept soundly. No prowling robber came to disturb them; and, as they were distributed in separate rooms, they did not even have a bolster-battle in the morning.

Such a breakfast as they ate! The landlord looked frightened. When he had asked them where they "belonged," he made up his mind that the Broek people starved their children. It was a shame, "such fine young gentlemen, too!"

Fortunately the wind had tired itself out, and fallen asleep in the great sea-cradle beyond the Dunes. There were signs of snow; otherwise, the weather was fine.

It was mere child's-play for the well-rested boys to skate to Leyden. Here they halted a while, for Peter had an errand at the "Golden Eagle." He left the city with a lightened heart; Dr. Boekman had been at the hotel, read the note containing Hans' message, and departed for Broek.

"I cannot say it was your letter sent him off so soon," explained the landlord; "some rich lady in Broek was taken bad very sudden, and he was sent for in haste."

Peter turned pale.

"What was the name?" he asked.

"Indeed, it went in one ear, and out of the other—for all I hindered it. Plague to people who can't see a traveler in comfortable lodgings, but they must whisk him off, before one can breathe."

"A lady in Broek, did you say?"

"Yes," very gruffly; "and other business, young master?"

"No, mine host—except that I and my comrades here would like a bite of something, and a drink of hot coffee."

"Ah," said the landlord, sweetly, "a bite you shall have, and coffee too, the finest in Leyden. Walk up to the stove, my masters—now I think again—that was a widow lady—from Rotterdam, I think they said—visiting at one Van Stoepel's if I mistake not."

"Ah!" said Peter, greatly relieved. "They live in the white house by the Schlossen Mill—now, mynheer, the coffee, please!"

"What a goose I was," thought he, as the party left the Golden Eagle, "to feel so sure it was my mother—but she may be somebody's mother, poor woman, for all that. Who can she be, I wonder?"

There were not many upon the canal that day, between Leyden and Haarlem. However, as the boys neared Amsterdam, they found themselves once more in the midst of a moving throng. The big Ysbreeker[28]
had been at work for
the first time that season, but there was any amount of skating ground left yet.

"Three cheers for home!" cried Van Mounen, as they came in sight of the great Western dock (Westelijk Dok). "Hurrah! Hurrah!" shouted one and all. "Hurrah! Hurrah!"

This trick of cheering was an importation among our party. Lambert van Mounen had brought it from England. As they always gave it in English, it was considered quite an exploit and, when circumstances permitted, always enthusiastically performed, to the sore dismay of their quiet-loving countrymen.

Therefore, their arrival at Amsterdam created a great sensation, especially among the small boys on the wharfs.

The Y was crossed. They were on the Broek canal.

Lambert's home was reached first.

"Good-bye, boys!" he cried, as he left them. "We've had the greatest frolic ever known in Holland."

"So we have. Good-bye, Van Mounen!" answered the boys.

"Good-bye!"

Peter hailed him. "I say, Van Mounen, the classes begin to-morrow!"

"I know it. Our holiday is over. Good-bye, again."

"Good-bye!"

Broek came in sight. Such meetings! Katrinka was on the canal! Carl was delighted. Hilda was there! Peter felt rested in an instant. Rychie was there! Ludwig and Jacob nearly knocked each other over in their eagerness to shake hands with her.

Dutch girls are modest and generally quiet; but they have very glad eyes. For a few moments, it was hard to decide whether Hilda, Rychie or Katrinka felt the most happy.

Annie Bouman was also on the canal, looking even prettier than the other maidens, in her graceful, peasant's costume. But she did not mingle with Rychie's party; neither did she look unusually happy.

The one she liked most to see was not among the newcomers. Indeed he was not upon the canal at all. She had not been near Broek before, since the Eve of St. Nicholas, for she was staying with her sick grandmother in Amsterdam, and had been granted a brief resting-spell, as the grandmother called it, because she had been such a faithful little nurse night and day.

Annie had devoted her resting-spell to skating with all her might toward Broek, and back again, in the hope of meeting her mother or some of her family on the canal, or, it might be, Gretel Brinker—Not one of them had she seen—and she must hurry back, without ever catching a glimpse of her mother's cottage—for the poor helpless grandmother, she knew, was by this time moaning for some one to turn her upon her cot.

Where can Gretel be? thought Annie, as she flew over the ice; she can almost always steal a few moments from her work at this time of day—poor Gretel—what a dreadful thing it must be to have a dull father—I should be wofully afraid of him, I know—So strong, and yet so strange!

Annie had not heard of his illness. Dame Brinker and her affairs received but little notice from the people of the place.

If Gretel had not been known as a goose-girl she might have had more friends among the peasantry of the neighborhood. As it was, Annie Bouman was the only one who did not feel ashamed to avow herself by word and deed the companion of Gretel and Hans.

When the neighbors' children laughed at her for keeping such poor company, she would simply flush when Hans was ridiculed, or laugh in a careless, disdainful way; but to hear little Gretel abused always awakened her wrath.

"Goose-girl, indeed!" she would say. "I can tell you any of you are fitter for the work than she. My father often said last summer that it troubled him to see such a bright-eyed, patient little maiden tending geese. Humph! She would not harm them, as you would, Janzoon Kolp; and she would not tread upon them, as you might, Kate Wouters."

This would be pretty sure to start a laugh at the clumsy, ill-natured Kate's expense; and Annie would walk loftily away from the group of young gossips. Perhaps some memory of Gretel's assailants crossed her mind as she skated rapidly toward Amsterdam, for her eyes sparkled ominously and she more than once gave her pretty head a defiant toss. When that mood passed, such a bright, rosy, affectionate look illumined her face, that more than one weary working man turned to gaze after her, and to wish that he had a glad contented lass like that for a daughter.

There were five joyous households in Broek that night.

The boys were back safe and sound; and they found all well at home. Even the sick lady at neighbor Van Stoepel's was out of danger.

But the next morning! Ah, how stupidly school-bells will ding-dong! ding-dong, when one is tired.

Ludwig was sure he had never listened to anything so odious. Even Peter felt pathetic on the occasion. Carl said it was a shame for a fellow to have to turn out when his bones were splitting—and Jacob soberly bade Ben "Goot-Pye!" and walked off with his satchel as if it weighed a hundred pounds.