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 Zooelogical 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]
[Footnote 28: Ice-breaker--A heavy machine armed with iron spikes for
breaking the ice as it is dragged along. Some of the small ones are
worked by men--but the large ones are drawn by horses--sixty or seventy
of which are sometimes attached to one Ysbreeker.] 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.