fond of the flower to this day."
"Certainly. You can't have a garden without them, prettiest flower that
grows, _I_ think. My uncle has a magnificent bed of the finest varieties
at his summer-house on the other side of Amsterdam."
"I thought your uncle lived in the city?"
"So he does; but his summer-house, or pavilion, is a few miles off. He
has another one built out over the river. We passed near it when we
entered the city. Everybody in Amsterdam has a pavilion somewhere, if he
can."
"Do they ever live there?" asked Ben.
"Bless you, no! They are small affairs, suitable only to spend a few
hours in on Summer afternoons. There are some beautiful ones on the
southern end of the Haarlem Lake--now that they've commenced to drain it
into polders, it will spoil _that_ fun. By the way, we've passed some
red-roofed ones since we left home. You noticed them I suppose with
their little bridges, and ponds and gardens, and their mottoes over the
door-way."
Ben nodded.
"They make but little show, now," continued Lambert, "but in warm
weather they are delightful. After the willows sprout, uncle goes to his
summer-house every afternoon. He dozes and smokes; aunt knits, with her
feet perched upon a foot-stove, never mind how hot the day; my cousin
Rika and the other girls fish in the lake from the windows, or chat with
their friends rowing by; and the youngsters tumble about, or hang upon
the little bridges over the ditch. Then they have coffee and cakes;
besides a great bunch of water-lilies on the table--it's very fine, I
can tell you; only (between ourselves) though I was born here, I shall
never fancy the odor of stagnant water that hangs about most of the
summer-houses. Nearly every one you see is built over a ditch. Probably
I feel it more, from having lived so long in England."
"Perhaps I shall notice it, too," said Ben, "if a thaw comes. This early
winter has covered up the fragrant waters for my benefit--much obliged
to it. Holland without this glorious skating wouldn't be the same thing
to me at all."
"How very different you are from the Poots!" exclaimed Lambert, who had
been listening in a sort of brown study, "and yet you are cousins--I
cannot understand it."
"We _are_ cousins, or rather we have always considered ourselves such,
but the relationship is not very close. Our grandmothers were
half-sisters. _My_ side of the family is entirely English, while his is
entirely Dutch. Old Great-grandfather Poot married twice, you see, and I
am a descendant of his English wife. I like Jacob, though, better than
half of my English cousins put together. He is the truest-hearted,
best-natured boy I ever knew. Strange as you may think it, my father
became accidentally acquainted with Jacob's father while on a business
visit to Rotterdam. They soon talked over their relationship--in French,
by the way--and they have corresponded in that language ever since.
Queer things come about in this world. My sister Jenny would open her
eyes at some of Aunt Poot's ways. Aunt is a thorough lady, but so
different from mother--and the house, too, and furniture, and way of
living, everything is different."
"Of course," assented Lambert, complacently, as if to say, "you could
scarcely expect such general perfection anywhere else than in Holland,"
"but you will have all the more to tell Jenny when you go back."
"Yes, indeed. I can say one thing--if cleanliness is, as they claim,
next to godliness, Broek is safe. It is the cleanest place I ever saw in
my life. Why, my Aunt Poot, rich as she is, scrubs half the time, and
her house looks as if it were varnished all over. I wrote to mother
yesterday that I could see my double always with me, feet to feet, in
the polished floor of the dining-room."
"Your _double_! that word puzzles me; what do you mean?"
"Oh, my reflection, my apparition. Ben Dobbs number two."
"Ah, I see," exclaimed Van Mounen. "Have you ever been in your Aunt
Poot's grand parlor?"
Ben laughed. "Only once, and that was on the day of my arrival. Jacob
says I shall have no chance of entering it again until the time of his
sister Kenau's wedding, the week after Christmas. Father has consented
that I shall remain to witness the great event. Every Saturday Aunt
Poot, and her fat Kate, go into that parlor and sweep, and polish, and
scrub; then it is darkened and closed until Saturday comes again; not a
soul enters it in the meantime; but the _schoonmaken_, as she calls it,
must be done, just the same."
"That is nothing. Every parlor in Broek meets with the same treatment,"
said Lambert. "What do you think of these moving figures in her
neighbor's garden?"
"Oh, they're well enough; the swans must seem really alive gliding about
the pond in summer; but that nodding Mandarin in the corner, under the
chestnut trees, is ridiculous, only fit for children to laugh at. And
then the stiff garden patches, and the trees all trimmed and painted.
Excuse me, Van Mounen, but I shall never learn to admire Dutch taste."
"It will take time," answered Lambert, condescendingly, "but you are
sure to agree with it at last. I saw much to admire in England, and I
hope I shall be sent back with you, to study at Oxford; but take
everything together, I like Holland best."
"Of course you do," said Ben, in a tone of hearty approval, "you
wouldn't be a good Hollander if you didn't. Nothing like loving one's
country. It is strange, though, to have such a warm feeling for such a
cold place. If we were not exercising all the time we should freeze
outright."
Lambert laughed.
"That's your English blood, Benjamin. _I'm_ not cold. And look at the
skaters here on the canal--they're red as roses, and happy as lords.
Hallo! good Captain van Holp," called out Lambert in Dutch, "what say
you to stopping at yonder farmhouse and warming our toes?"
"Who is cold?" asked Peter, turning around.
"Benjamin Dobbs."
"Benjamin Dobbs shall be warmed," and the party was brought to a halt.
XII
ON THE WAY TO HAARLEM
On approaching the door of the farmhouse the boys suddenly found
themselves in the midst of a lively domestic scene. A burly Dutchman
came rushing out, closely followed by his dear _vrouw_, and she was
beating him smartly with a long-handled warming-pan. The expression on
her face gave our boys so little promise of a kind reception that they
prudently resolved to carry their toes elsewhere to be warmed.
The next cottage proved to be more inviting. Its low roof of bright red
tiles, extended over the cow-stable, that, clean as could be, nestled
close to the main building. A neat, peaceful-looking old woman sat at
one window, knitting. At the other could be discerned part of the
profile of a fat figure that, pipe in mouth, sat behind the shining
little panes and snowy curtain. In answer to Peter's subdued knock, a
fair-haired, rosy-cheeked lass in holiday attire opened the upper half
of the green door (which was divided across the middle) and inquired
their errand.
"May we enter and warm ourselves, jufvrouw?" asked the captain
respectfully.
"Yes, and welcome," was the reply, as the lower half of the door swung
softly toward its mate. Every boy before entering rubbed long and
faithfully upon the rough mat, and each made his best bow to the old
lady and gentleman at the windows. Ben was half inclined to think that
these personages were automata like the moving figures in the garden at
Broek; for they both nodded their heads slowly, in precisely the same
way, and both went on with their employment as steadily and stiffly as
though they worked by machinery. The old man puffed! puffed! and his
vrouw clicked her knitting-needles, as if regulated by internal
cog-wheels. Even the real smoke issuing from the motionless pipe, gave
no convincing proof that they were human.
But the rosy-cheeked maiden. Ah! how she bustled about. How she gave the
boys polished high-backed chairs to sit upon, how she made the fire
blaze up as if it were inspired, how she made Jacob Poot almost weep for
joy by bringing forth a great square of gingerbread, and a stone jug of
sour wine! How she laughed and nodded as the boys ate like wild animals
on good behavior, and how blank she looked when Ben politely but firmly
refused to take any black bread and sour-krout! How she pulled off
Jacob's mitten, which was torn at the thumb, and mended it before his
eyes, biting off the thread with her white teeth, and saying, "now it
will be warmer," as she bit; and finally, how she shook hands with every
boy in turn and (throwing a deprecating glance at the female automaton)
insisted upon filling their pockets with gingerbread!
All this time the knitting-needles clicked on, and the pipe never missed
a puff.
When the boys were fairly on their way again, they came in sight of
Zwanenburg Castle with its massive stone front, and its gateway towers,
each surmounted with a sculptured swan.
"Halfweg,[19] boys," said Peter, "off with your skates."
[Footnote 19: Half-way.]
"You see," explained Lambert to his companion, "the Y and the Haarlem
Lake meeting here make it rather troublesome. The river is five feet
higher than the land--so we must have everything strong in the way of
dykes and sluice-gates, or there would be wet work at once. The sluice
arrangements here are supposed to be something extra--we will walk over
them and you shall see enough to make you open your eyes. The spring
water of the lake, they say, has the most wonderful bleaching powers of
any in the world; all the great Haarlem bleacheries use it. I can't say
much upon that subject--but I can tell you _one_ thing from personal
experience."
"What is that?"
"Why, the lake is full of the biggest eels you ever saw--I've caught
them here, often--perfectly prodigious! I tell you they're sometimes a
match for a fellow; they'd almost wriggle your arm from the socket if
you were not on your guard. But you're not interested in eels, I
perceive. The castle's a big affair. Isn't it?"
"Yes. What do those swans mean? Anything?" asked Ben, looking up at the
stone gate-towers.
"The swan is held almost in reverence by us Hollanders. These give the
building its name, Zwanenburg--swan-castle. That is all I know. This is
a very important spot; for it is here that the wise ones hold council
with regard to dyke matters. The castle was once the residence of the
celebrated Christiaan Brunings."
"What about _him_?" asked Ben.
"Peter could answer you better than I," said Lambert, "if you could only
understand each other, or were not such cowards about leaving your
mother-tongues. But I have often heard my grandfather speak of Brunings.
He is never tired of telling us of the great engineer--how good he was,
and how learned, and how when he died the whole country seemed to mourn
as for a friend. He belonged to a great many learned societies, and was
at the head of the State department intrusted with the care of the
dykes, and other defences against the sea. There's no counting the
improvements he made in dykes and sluices and water-mills, and all that
kind of thing. We Hollanders, you know, consider our great engineers as
the highest of public benefactors. Brunings died years ago; they've a
monument to his memory in the cathedral of Haarlem. I have seen his
portrait, and I tell you, Ben, he was right noble-looking. No wonder the
castle looks so stiff and proud. It is something to have given shelter
to such a man!"
"Yes, indeed," said Ben. "I wonder, Van Mounen, whether you or I will
ever give any old building a right to feel proud--Heigho! there's a
great deal to be done yet in this world and some of us who are boys now,
will have to do it. Look to your shoe latchet, Van, it's unfastened."
XIII
A CATASTROPHE
It was nearly one o'clock when Captain van Holp and his command entered
the grand old city of Haarlem. They had skated nearly seventeen miles
since morning, and were still as fresh as young eagles. From the
youngest (Ludwig van Holp, who was just fourteen) to the eldest, no less
a personage than the captain himself, a veteran of seventeen, there was
but one opinion--that this was the greatest frolic of their lives. To be
sure, Jacob Poot had become rather short of breath, during the last mile
or two, and perhaps he felt ready for another nap; but there was enough
jollity in him yet for a dozen. Even Carl Schummel, who had become very
intimate with Ludwig during the excursion, forgot to be ill-natured. As
for Peter, he was the happiest of the happy, and had sung and whistled
so joyously while skating that the staidest passers-by had smiled as
they listened.
"Come, boys! it's nearly tiffin[20] hour," he said, as they neared a
coffee-house on the main street. "We must have something more solid than
the pretty maiden's gingerbread"--and the captain plunged his hands into
his pockets as if to say, "There's money enough here to feed an army!"
[Footnote 20: Lunch.]
"Hollo!" cried Lambert, "what ails the man?"
Peter, pale and staring, was clapping his hands upon his breast and
sides--he looked like one suddenly becoming deranged.
"He's sick!" cried Ben.
"No, he's lost something," said Carl.
Peter could only gasp--"the pocketbook! with all our money in it--it's
gone!"
For an instant all were too much startled to speak.
Carl at last came out with a gruff,
"No sense in letting one fellow have all the money. I said so from the
first. Look in your other pocket."
"I did--it isn't there."
"Open your under jacket----"
Peter obeyed mechanically. He even took off his hat and looked into
it--then thrust his hand desperately into every pocket.
"It's gone, boys," he said at last, in a hopeless tone. "No tiffin for
us, nor dinner neither. What is to be done? We can't get on without
money. If we were in Amsterdam I could get as much as we want, but there
is not a man in Haarlem from whom I can borrow a stiver. Don't one of
you know any one here who would lend us a few guilders?"
Each boy looked into five blank faces. Then something like a smile
passed around the circle, but it got sadly knotted up when it reached
Carl.
"That wouldn't do," he said crossly. "I know some people here, rich
ones, too, but father would flog me soundly, if I borrowed a cent from
any one. He has 'AN HONEST MAN NEED NOT BORROW,' written over the
gateway of his summer-house."
"Humph!" responded Peter, not particularly admiring the sentiment just
at that moment.
The boys grew desperately hungry at once.
"It wash my fault," said Jacob, in a penitent tone, to Ben. "I say
first, petter all de boys put zair pursh into Van Holp's monish."
"Nonsense, Jacob; you did it all for the best."
Ben said this in such a sprightly tone that the two Van Holps and Carl
felt sure he had proposed a plan that would relieve the party at once.
"What? what? Tell us, Van Mounen," they cried.
"He says it is not Jacob's fault that the money is lost--that he did it
for the best, when he proposed that Van Holp should put all of our money
into his purse."
"Is that all?" said Ludwig dismally; "he need not have made such a fuss
in just saying _that_. How much money have we lost?"
"Don't you remember?" said Peter. "We each put in exactly ten guilders.
The purse had sixty guilders in it. I am the stupidest fellow in the
world; little Schimmelpenninck would have made you a better captain. I
could pommel myself for bringing such a disappointment upon you."
"Do it then," growled Carl. "Pooh," he added, "we all know it was an
accident, but that doesn't help matters. We must have money, Van
Holp--even if you have to sell your wonderful watch."
"Sell my mother's birthday present! Never! I will sell my coat, my hat,
anything but my watch."
"Come, come," said Jacob pleasantly, "we are making too much of this
affair. We can go home and start again in a day or two."
"_You_ may be able to get another ten-guilder piece," said Carl, "but
the rest of us will not find it so easy. If we go home, we stay home,
you may depend."
Our captain, whose good-nature had not yet forsaken him for a moment,
grew indignant.
"Do you think I will let you suffer for my carelessness," he exclaimed.
"I have three times sixty guilders in my strong box at home!"
"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Carl, hastily, adding in a surlier tone,
"well, I see no better way than to go back hungry."
"I see a better plan than that," said the captain.
"What is it?" cried all the boys.
"Why, to make the best of a bad business and go back pleasantly, and
like men," said Peter, looking so gallant and handsome as he turned his
frank face and clear blue eyes upon them--that they caught his spirit.
"Ho! for the captain," they shouted.
"Now, boys, we may as well make up our minds there's no place like
Broek, after all--and that we mean to be there in two hours--is that
agreed to?"
"Agreed!" cried all, as they ran to the canal.
"On with your skates! Are you ready? Here, Jacob, let me help you."
"Now. One, two, three, start!"
And the boyish faces that left Haarlem at that signal were nearly as
bright as those that had entered it with Captain Peter half an hour
before.
XIV
HANS
"Donder and Blixin!" cried Carl angrily, before the party had skated
twenty yards from the city gates, "if here isn't that wooden-skate
ragamuffin in the patched leather breeches. That fellow is everywhere,
confound him! We'll be lucky," he added, in as sneering a tone as he
dared to assume, "if our captain doesn't order us to halt and shake
hands with him."
"Your captain is a terrible fellow," said Peter, pleasantly, "but this
is a false alarm, Carl--I cannot spy your bugbear anywhere among the
skaters--ah! there he is! why, what is the matter with the lad?"
Poor Hans! His face was pale, his lips compressed. He skated like one
under the effects of a fearful dream. Just as he was passing, Peter
hailed him:
"Good day, Hans Brinker!"
Hans' countenance brightened at once.--"Ah! Mynheer, is that you? It is
well we meet!"
"Just like his impertinence," hissed Carl Schummel, darting scornfully
past his companions, who seemed inclined to linger with their captain.
"I am glad to see you, Hans," responded Peter, cheerily, "but you look
troubled. Can I serve you?"
"I have a trouble, mynheer," answered Hans, casting down his eyes. Then
lifting them again with almost a happy expression, he added, "but it is
Hans who can help Mynheer van Holp _this_ time."
"How?" asked Peter, making, in his blunt Dutch way, no attempt to
conceal his surprise.
"By giving you _this_, mynheer"--and Hans held forth the missing purse.
"Hurrah!" shouted the boys taking their cold hands from their pockets to
wave them joyfully in the air. But Peter said "Thank you, Hans Brinker,"
in a tone that made Hans feel as if the king had knelt to him.
The shout of the delighted boys reached the muffled ears of the fine
young gentleman who, under a full pressure of pent-up wrath, was skating
toward Amsterdam. A Yankee boy would have wheeled about at once and
hastened to satisfy his curiosity. But Carl only halted, and with his
back toward his party wondered what on earth had happened. There he
stood, immovable, until, feeling sure that nothing but the prospect of
something to eat could have made them hurrah so heartily, he turned and
skated slowly toward his excited comrades.
Meantime Peter had drawn Hans aside from the rest.
"How did you know it was my purse?" he asked.
"You paid me three guilders yesterday, mynheer, for making the
white-wood chain, telling me that I must buy skates."
"Yes, I remember."
"I saw your purse then; it was of yellow leather."
"And where did you find it to-day?"
"I left my home this morning, mynheer, in great trouble, and as I
skated, I took no heed until I stumbled against some lumber, and while I
was rubbing my knee I saw your purse nearly hidden under a log."
"That place! Ah, I remember, now; just as we were passing it I pulled my
tippet from my pocket, and probably flirted out the purse at the same
time. It would have been gone but for you, Hans. Here"--pouring out the
contents--"you must give us the pleasure of dividing the money with
you----"
"No, mynheer," answered Hans. He spoke quietly, without pretence, or any
grace of manner, but Peter, somehow, felt rebuked, and put the silver
back without a word.
"I like that boy, rich or poor," he thought to himself, then added
aloud, "May I ask about this trouble of yours, Hans?"
"Ah, mynheer, it is a sad case--but I have waited here too long. I am
going to Leyden to see the great Dr. Boekman----"
"Dr. Boekman!" exclaimed Peter in astonishment.
"Yes, mynheer, and I have not a moment to lose. Good day!"
"Stay, I am going that way. Come, my lads! Shall we return to Haarlem?"
"Yes," cried the boys, eagerly--and off they started.
"Now," said Peter, drawing near Hans, both skimming the ice so easily
and lightly as they skated on together that they seemed scarce conscious
of moving, "we are going to stop at Leyden, and if you are going there
only with a message to Dr. Boekman cannot I do the errand for you? The
boys may be too tired to skate so far to-day, but I will promise to see
him early to-morrow if he is to be found in the city."
"Ah, mynheer, that would be serving me indeed; it is not the distance I
dread, but leaving my mother so long."
"Is she ill?"
"No, mynheer. It is the father. You may have heard it; how he has been
without wit for many a year--ever since the great Schlossen mill was
built; but his body has been well and strong. Last night, the mother
knelt upon the hearth to blow the peat (it is his only delight to sit
and watch the live embers; and she will blow them into a blaze every
hour of the day to please him). Before she could stir, he sprang upon
her like a giant and held her close to the fire, all the time laughing
and shaking his head. I was on the canal; but I heard the mother scream
and ran to her. The father had never loosened his hold, and her gown was
smoking. I tried to deaden the fire, but with one hand he pushed me off.
There was no water in the cottage or I could have done better--and all
that time he laughed--such a terrible laugh, mynheer; hardly a sound,
but all in his face--I tried to pull her away, but that only made it
worse--then--it was dreadful, but could I see the mother burn? I beat
him--beat him with a stool. He tossed me away. The gown was on fire! I
_would_ put it out. I can't remember well after that; I found myself
upon the floor and the mother was praying--It seemed to me that she was
in a blaze, and all the while I could hear that laugh. My sister Gretel
screamed out that he was holding the mother close to the very coals. _I_
could not tell! Gretel flew to the closet and filled a porringer with
the food he liked, and put it upon the floor. Then, mynheer, he left the
mother and crawled to it like a little child. She was not burnt, only a
part of her clothing--ah, how kind she was to him all night, watching
and tending him--He slept in a high fever, with his hand pressed to his
head. The mother says he has done that so much of late, as though he
felt pain there--Ah, mynheer, I did not mean to tell you. If the father
was himself, he would not harm even a kitten----"
For a moment the two boys moved on in silence--
"It is terrible," said Peter at last--"How is he to-day?"
"Very sick, mynheer----"
"Why go for Dr. Boekman, Hans? There are others in Amsterdam who could
help him, perhaps;--Boekman is a famous man, sought only by the
wealthiest and they often wait upon him in vain."
"He _promised_, mynheer, he promised me yesterday to come to the father
in a week--but now that the change has come, we cannot wait--we think
the poor father is dying--Oh! mynheer, you can plead with him to come
quick--he will not wait a whole week and our father dying--the good
meester is so kind----"
"_So kind!_" echoed Peter, in astonishment. "Why, he is known as the
crossest man in Holland!"
"He looks so because he has no fat, and his head is busy but his heart
is kind, I know--Tell the meester what I have told you, mynheer, and he
will come."
"I hope so, Hans, with all my heart. You are in haste to turn homeward,
I see. Promise me that should you need a friend, you will go to my
mother, at Broek. Tell her I bade you see her; and, Hans Brinker--not as
a reward--but as a gift--take a few of these guilders."
Hans shook his head resolutely.
"No, no, mynheer--I cannot take it. If I could find work in Broek or at
the South Mill I would be glad, but it is the same story
everywhere--'wait till Spring.'"