enough you were there when your mother lifted it. Now, son--easy--shift
this pillow--so. Good-night."
"Good-night, father!" said Hans, ready to dance for joy.
* * * * *
The moon rose very late that night, shining in, full and clear, at the
little window; but its beams did not disturb Raff Brinker. He slept
soundly, so did Gretel. As for Hans and his mother, they had something
else to do.
After making a few hurried preparations, they stole forth with bright
expectant faces, bearing a broken spade and a rusty implement that had
done many a day's service when Raff was a hale worker on the dykes.
It was so light out of doors they could see the willow tree distinctly.
The frozen ground was hard as stone, but Hans and his mother were
resolute. Their only dread was that they might disturb the sleepers in
the cottage.
"This ysbrekker is just the thing, mother," said Hans striking many a
vigorous blow--"but the ground has set so firm it'll be a fair match for
it."
"Never fear, Hans," she answered, watching him eagerly; "here, let me
try a while."
They soon succeeded in making an impression; one opening, and the rest
was not so difficult.
Still they worked on, taking turns and whispering cheerily to one
another. Now and then Dame Brinker stepped noiselessly over the
threshold and listened, to be certain that her husband slept.
"What grand news it will be for him," she said, laughing, "when he is
strong enough to bear it. How I should like to put the pouch and the
stocking, just as we find them, all full of money, near him this blessed
night, for the dear man to see when he wakens."
"We must get them, first, mother," panted Hans, still tugging away at
his work.
"There's no doubt of that. They can't slip away from us now," she
answered, shivering with cold and excitement, as she crouched beside the
opening. "Like enough we'll find them stowed in the old earthen pot I
lost long ago."
By this time Hans, too, began to tremble, but not with cold. He had
penetrated a foot deep for quite a space on the south side of the tree.
At any moment they might come upon the treasure.
Meantime the stars winked and blinked at each other as if to say, "Queer
country, this Holland! How much we do see to be sure!"
"Strange that the dear father should have put it down so woeful deep,"
said Dame Brinker, in rather a provoked tone. "Ah, the ground was soft
enough then, I warrant. How wise of him to mistrust Jan Kamphuisen, and
Jan in full credit at the time. Little I thought that handsome fellow
with his gay ways would ever go to jail! Now, Hans, let me take a
turn--it's lighter work, d'ye see? the deeper we go. I'd be loath to
kill the tree, Hans--will we harm it, think you?"
"I cannot say," he answered, gravely.
Hour after hour, mother and son worked on. The hole grew larger and
deeper. Clouds began to gather in the sky, throwing elfish shadows as
they passed. Not until moon and stars faded away and streaks of daylight
began to appear, did Meitje Brinker and Hans look hopelessly into each
other's face.
They had searched thoroughly, desperately, all round the tree; south,
north, east, west. _The hidden money was not there!_
XXXIX
GLIMPSES
Annie Bouman had a healthy distaste for Janzoon Kolp. Janzoon Kolp, in
his own rough way, adored Annie. Annie declared she could not "to save
her life" say one civil word to that odious boy. Janzoon believed her to
be the sweetest, sauciest creature in the world. Annie laughed among her
playmates at the comical flapping of Janzoon's tattered and dingy
jacket; he sighed in solitude over the floating grace of her jaunty blue
petticoat. She thanked her stars that her brothers were not like the
Kolps; and he growled at his sister because she was not like the
Boumans. They seemed to exchange natures whenever they met. His presence
made her harsh and unfeeling; and the very sight of _her_ made him
gentle as a lamb. Of course they were thrown together very often. It is
thus that in some mysterious way we are convinced of error and cured of
prejudice. In this case, however, the scheme failed. Annie detested
Janzoon more and more at each encounter; and Janzoon liked her better
and better every day.
"He killed a stork, the wicked old wretch!" she would say to herself.
"She knows I am strong and fearless," thought Janzoon.
"How red and freckled and ugly he is!" was Annie's secret comment when
she looked at him.
"How she stares, and stares!" thought Janzoon. "Well, I am a fine,
weather-beaten fellow, anyway."
"Janzoon Kolp, you impudent boy, go right away from me!" Annie often
said. "I don't want any of your company."
"Ha! ha!" laughed Janzoon to himself, "girls never say what they mean.
I'll skate with her every chance I can get."
And so it came to pass that the pretty maid would not look up that
morning when, skating homeward from Amsterdam, she became convinced that
a great burly boy was coming down the canal, toward her.
"Humph! if I look at him," thought Annie, "I'll----"
"Good-morrow, Annie Bouman," said a pleasant voice.
[How a smile brightens a girl's face!]
"Good-morrow, Master Hans, I am right glad to meet you."
[How a smile brightens a boy's face!]
"Good-morrow again, Annie. There has been a great change at our house
since you left."
"How so?" she exclaimed, opening her eyes very wide.
Hans, who had been in a great hurry, and rather moody, grew talkative
and quite at leisure in Annie's sunshine.
Turning about, and skating slowly with her toward Broek, he told the
good news of his father. Annie was so true a friend that he told her
even of their present distress, of how money was needed, and how
everything depended upon his obtaining work, and he could find nothing
to do in the neighborhood.
All this was not said as a complaint, but just because she was looking
at him, and really wished to know. He could not speak of last night's
bitter disappointment, for that secret was not wholly his own.
"Good-bye, Annie!" he said at last. "The morning is going fast, and I
must haste to Amsterdam and sell these skates. Mother must have money at
once. Before nightfall I shall certainly find a job somewhere."
"Sell your new skates, Hans!" cried Annie; "you, the best skater around
Broek! Why, the race is coming off in five days!"
"I know it," he answered resolutely. "Good-bye! I shall skate home again
on the old wooden ones."
Such a bright glance! So different from Janzoon's ugly grin--and Hans
was off like an arrow.
"Hans! come back," she called.
Her voice changed the arrow into a top. Spinning around, he darted, in
one long, leaning sweep, toward her.
"Then you really are going to sell your new skates if you can find a
customer."
"Of course I am," he replied looking up with a surprised smile.
"Well, Hans, if you _are_ going to sell your skates," said Annie,
somewhat confused, "I mean if you----Well, I know somebody who would
like to buy them--that's all."
"Not Janzoon Kolp?" asked Hans, flushing.
"Oh, no," she pouted, "he is not one of my friends."
"But you _know_ him," persisted Hans.
Annie laughed. "Yes, I know him, and it's all the worse for him that I
do. Now please, Hans, don't ever talk any more to me about Janzoon. I
hate him!"
"Hate him! _you_ hate any one, Annie?"
She shook her head saucily. "Yes; and I'll hate you too, if you persist
in calling him one of my friends. You boys may like him because he
caught the greased goose at the Kermis last summer, and climbed the pole
with his great, ugly body tied up in a sack, but I don't care for such
things. I've disliked him ever since I saw him try to push his little
sister out of the merry-go-round at Amsterdam; and it's no secret up
_our_ way who killed the stork on your mother's roof. But we mustn't
talk about such a bad, wicked fellow. Really, Hans, I know somebody who
would be glad to buy your skates. You won't get half a price for them in
Amsterdam. _Please_ give them to me. I'll take you the money this very
afternoon."
If Annie was charming even when she said "hate," there was no
withstanding her when she said "please"; at least Hans found it to be
so.
"Annie," he said, taking off the skates, and rubbing them carefully with
a snarl of twine before handing them to her, "I am sorry to be so
particular; but if your friend should not want them, will you bring them
back to me to-day? I must buy peat and meal for the mother early
to-morrow morning."
"My friend _will_ want them," laughed Annie, nodding gaily, and skating
off at the top of her speed.
As Hans drew forth the wooden "runners" from his capacious pockets and
fastened them on as best he could, he did not hear Annie murmur, "I wish
I had not been so rude; poor, brave Hans; what a noble boy he is!" And
as Annie skated homeward filled with pleasant thoughts, she did not hear
Hans say, "I grumbled like a bear--but bless her! some girls are like
angels!"
Perhaps it was all for the best. One cannot be expected to know
everything that is going on in the world.
XL
LOOKING FOR WORK
Luxuries unfit us for returning to hardships easily endured before. The
wooden runners squeaked more than ever. It was as much as Hans could do
to get on with the clumsy old things; still he did not regret that he
had parted with his beautiful skates--but resolutely pushed back the
boyish trouble that he had not been able to keep them just a little
longer, at least until after the race.
"Mother surely will not be angry with me," he thought, "for selling them
without her leave. She has had care enough already. It will be full time
to speak of it when I take home the money."
Hans went up and down the streets of Amsterdam that day, looking for
work. He succeeded in earning a few stivers by assisting a man who was
driving a train of loaded mules into the city, but he could not secure
steady employment anywhere. He would have been glad to obtain a
situation as porter or errand-boy, but though he passed, on his way,
many a loitering, shuffling urchin, laden with bundles, there was no
place for him. Some shopkeepers had just supplied themselves; others
needed a trimmer, more lightly-built fellow (they meant better dressed,
but did not choose to say so); others told him to call again in a month
or two, when the canals would probably be broken up; and many shook
their heads at him without saying a word.
At the factories he met with no better luck. It seemed to him that in
those great buildings, turning out respectively such tremendous
quantities of woolen, cotton and linen stuffs, such world-renowned dyes
and paints, such precious diamonds cut from the rough, such supplies of
meal, of bricks, of glass and china--that in at least one of these, a
strong-armed boy, able and eager to work, could find something to do.
But no--nearly the same answer met him everywhere, "no need of more
hands just now. If he had called before Nicholas' day they might have
given him a job, as they were hurried then; but at present they had more
boys than they needed." Hans wished they could see, just for a moment,
his mother and Gretel. He did not know how the anxiety of both looked
out from his eyes, and how more than once, the gruffest denials were
uttered with an uncomfortable consciousness that the lad ought not to be
turned away. Certain fathers, when they went home that night, spoke more
kindly than usual to their own youngsters, from memory of a frank, young
face saddened at their words; and before morning one man actually
resolved that if the Broek boy came in again he would instruct his head
man Blankert to set him at something.
But Hans knew nothing of all this. Toward sundown he started on his
return to Broek, uncertain whether the strange, choking sensation in his
throat arose from discouragement or resolution. There was certainly one
more chance. Mynheer van Holp might have returned by this time. Master
Peter it was reported had gone to Haarlem the night before, to attend to
something connected with the great Skating Race. Still Hans would go and
try.
Fortunately, Peter had returned early that morning. He was at home when
Hans reached there, and was just about starting for the Brinker cottage.
"Ah, Hans!" he cried as the weary boy approached the door. "You are the
very one I wished to see. Come in and warm yourself."
After tugging at his well-worn hat, which always _would_ stick to his
head when he was embarrassed, Hans knelt down--not by way of making a
new style of oriental salute--nor to worship the goddess of cleanliness
who presided there--but because his heavy shoes would have filled the
soul of a Broek housewife with horror. When their owner stepped softly
into the house, they were left outside to act as sentinels until his
return.
* * * * *
Hans left the Van Holp mansion with a lightened heart. Peter had brought
word from Haarlem that young Brinker was to commence working upon the
summer-house doors immediately. There was a comfortable workshop on the
place and it was to be at his service until the carving was done.
Peter did not tell Hans that he had skated all the way to Haarlem for
the purpose of arranging this plan with Mynheer van Holp. It was enough
for him to see the glad, eager look rise on young Brinker's face.
"I _think_ I can do it," said Hans, "though I have never learned the
trade."
"I am _sure_ you can," responded Peter, heartily. "You will find every
tool you require in the workshop. It is nearly hidden yonder by that
wall of twigs. In summer when the hedge is green, one cannot see the
shop from here at all. How is your father to-day?"
"Better, mynheer--he improves every hour."
"It is the most astonishing thing I ever heard of. That gruff old doctor
is a great fellow after all."
"Ah! mynheer," said Hans, warmly, "he is more than great. He is good.
But for the meester's kind heart and great skill my poor father would
yet be in the dark. I think, mynheer," he added, with kindling eyes,
"surgery is the very noblest science in the world!"
Peter shrugged his shoulders. "Very noble it may be, but not quite to my
taste. This Dr. Boekman certainly has skill. As for his heart--defend me
from such hearts as his!"
"Why do you say so, mynheer?" asked Hans.
Just then a lady slowly entered from an adjoining apartment. It was
Mevrouw van Holp arrayed in the grandest of caps, and the longest of
satin aprons ruffled with lace. She nodded placidly as Hans stepped back
from the fire bowing as well as he knew how.
Peter at once drew a high-backed oaken chair toward the fire, and the
lady seated herself. There was a block of cork on each side of the
chimney-place. One of these he placed under his mother's feet.
Hans turned to go.
"Wait a moment, if you please, young man," said the lady. "I
accidentally overheard you and my son speaking I think of my friend Dr.
Boekman. You are right, young man. Dr. Boekman has a very kind heart.
You perceive, Peter, we may be quite mistaken in judging of a person
solely by their manners, though a courteous deportment is by no means to
be despised."
"I intended no disrespect, mother," said Peter, "but surely one has no
right to go growling and snarling through the world, as they say he
does."
"They say. Ah, Peter, 'they' means everybody or nobody. Surgeon Boekman
has had a great sorrow. Many years ago he lost his only child, under
very painful circumstances, a fine lad, except that he was a thought too
hasty and high spirited. Before then Gerard Boekman was one of the most
agreeable gentlemen I ever knew."
So saying, Mevrouw van Holp, looking kindly upon the two boys, arose and
left the room with the same dignity with which she had entered.
Peter, only half convinced, muttered something about "the sin of
allowing sorrow to turn all one's honey into gall," as he conducted his
visitor to the narrow side-door. Before they parted, he advised Hans to
keep himself in good skating order, "for," he added, "now that your
father is all right, you will be in fine spirits for the race. That will
be the prettiest skating show ever seen in this part of the world.
Everybody is talking of it; you are to try for the prize, remember."
"I shall not be in the race, mynheer," said Hans, looking down.
"Not be in the race! Why not indeed?" and immediately Peter's thoughts
swept on a full tide of suspicion toward Carl Schummel.
"Because I cannot, mynheer," answered Hans, as he bent to slip his feet
into his big shoes.
Something in the boy's manner warned Peter that it would be no kindness
to press the matter further. He bade Hans "good-bye," and stood
thoughtfully watching him as he walked away.
In a minute Peter called out:
"Hans Brinker!"
"Yes, mynheer."
"I'll take back all I said about Dr. Boekman."
"Yes, mynheer."
Both were laughing. But Peter's smile changed to a look of puzzled
surprise when he saw Hans kneel down by the canal and put on the wooden
skates.
"Very queer," muttered Peter shaking his head as he turned to go into
the house; "why in the world don't the boy wear his new ones?"
XLI
THE FAIRY GODMOTHER
The sun had gone down quite out of sight when our hero--with a happy
heart but with something like a sneer on his countenance, as he jerked
off the wooden "runners"--trudged hopefully toward the tiny hut-like
building, known of old as the Idiot's cottage.
Duller eyes than his would have discerned two slight figures moving near
the doorway.
That gray, well-patched jacket and the dull blue skirt covered with an
apron of still duller blue, that faded, close-fitting cap, and those
quick little feet in their great boat-like shoes, they were Gretel's of
course. He would have known them anywhere.
That bright coquettish red jacket, with its pretty skirt, bordered with
black, that graceful cap bobbing over the gold earrings, that dainty
apron, and those snug leather shoes that seemed to have grown with the
feet--Why if the Pope of Rome had sent them to him by express, Hans
could have sworn they were Annie's.
The two girls were slowly pacing up and down in front of the cottage.
Their arms were entwined, of course, and their heads were nodding and
shaking as emphatically as if all the affairs of the kingdom were under
discussion.
With a joyous shout, Hans hastened toward them.
"Huzza, girls, I've found work!"
This brought his mother to the cottage door.
She, too, had pleasant tidings. The father was still improving. He had
been sitting up nearly all day, and was now sleeping as Dame Brinker
declared, "just as quiet as a lamb."
"It is my turn now, Hans," said Annie, drawing him aside after he had
told his mother the good word from Mynheer van Holp. "Your skates are
sold and here's the money."
"Seven guilders!" cried Hans counting the pieces in astonishment; "why,
that is three times as much as I paid for them."
"I cannot help that," said Annie. "If the buyer knew no better, it is
not our fault."
Hans looked up quickly.
"Oh, Annie!"
"Oh, Hans!" she mimicked, pursing her lips, and trying to look
desperately wicked and unprincipled.
"Now, Annie, I know you would never mean that! You must return some of
this money."
"But I'll not do any such thing," insisted Annie; "they're sold, and
that's an end of it," then seeing that he looked really pained she added
in a lower tone:
"Will you believe me, Hans, when I say that there has been no
mistake--that the person who bought your skates _insisted_ upon paying
seven guilders for them?"
"I will," he answered--and the light from his clear blue eyes seemed to
settle and sparkle under Annie's lashes.
Dame Brinker was delighted at the sight of so much silver, but when she
learned that Hans had parted with his treasures to obtain it, she
sighed, as she exclaimed:
"Bless thee, child! That will be a sore loss for thee!"
"Here, mother," said the boy, plunging his hands far into his pockets,
"here is more--we shall be rich if we keep on!"
"Aye, indeed," she answered, eagerly reaching forth her hand. Then,
lowering her voice, added, "we _would_ be rich but for that Jan
Kamphuisen. He was at the willow tree years ago, Hans--depend upon it!"
"Indeed, it seems likely," sighed Hans. "Well, mother, we must give up
the money bravely. It is certainly gone; the father has told us all he
knows. Let us think no more about it."
"That's easy saying, Hans. I shall try, but it's hard, and my poor man
wanting so many comforts. Bless me! How girls fly about. They were here
but this instant. Where did they run to?"
"They slipped behind the cottage," said Hans, "like enough to hide from
us. Hist! I'll catch them for you! They both can move quicker and softer
than yonder rabbit, but I'll give them a good start first."
"Why, there _is_ a rabbit, sure enough. Hold, Hans, the poor thing must
have been in sore need to venture from its burrow this bitter weather.
I'll get a few crumbs for it within."
So saying, the good woman bustled into the cottage. She soon came out
again, but Hans had forgotten to wait, and the rabbit after taking a
cool survey of the premises had scampered off to unknown quarters.
Turning the corner of the cottage, Dame Brinker came upon the children.
Hans and Gretel were standing before Annie who was seated carelessly
upon a stump.
"That is as good as a picture!" cried Dame Brinker halting in admiration
of the group. "Many a painting have I seen at the grand house at
Heidelberg not a whit prettier. My two are rough chubs, Annie, but
_you_ look like a fairy."
"Do I?" laughed Annie, sparkling with animation. "Well then, Gretel and
Hans, imagine I'm your godmother just paying you a visit. Now I'll grant
you each a wish. What will you have, Master Hans?"
A shade of earnestness passed over Annie's face as she looked up at
him--perhaps it was because she wished from the depths of her heart that
for once she could have a fairy's power.
Something whispered to Hans that, for the moment, she was more than
mortal.
"I wish," said he, solemnly, "I could find something I was searching for
last night."
Gretel laughed merrily. Dame Brinker moaned, "Shame on you, Hans!" and
passed wearily into the cottage.
The fairy godmother sprang up and stamped her foot three times.
"Thou shalt have thy wish," said she, "let them say what they will."
Then with playful solemnity, she put her hand in her apron pocket and
drew forth a large glass bead. "Bury this," said she, giving it to Hans,
"where I have stamped, and ere moonrise thy wish shall be granted."
Gretel laughed more merrily than ever.
The godmother pretended great displeasure.
"Naughty child," said she, scowling terribly. "In punishment for
laughing at a fairy, _thy_ wish shall not be granted."
"Ha!" cried Gretel in high glee, "better wait till you're asked,
godmother. I haven't made any wish!"
Annie acted her part well. Never smiling, through all their merry
laughter, she stalked away, the embodiment of offended dignity.
"Good-night, fairy!" they cried again and again.
"Good-night, mortals!" she called out at last as she sprang over a
frozen ditch, and ran quickly homeward.
"Oh, isn't she--just like flowers--so sweet and lovely!" cried Gretel,
looking after her in great admiration, "and to think how many days she
stays in that dark room with her grandmother--Why, brother Hans! What is
the matter? What are you going to do?"
"Wait and see!" answered Hans as he plunged into the cottage and came
out again, all in an instant, bearing the spade and ysbrekker in his
hands--"I'm going to bury my magic bead!"
* * * * *
Raff Brinker still slept soundly; his wife took a small block of peat
from her nearly exhausted store, and put it upon the embers. Then
opening the door, she called gently:
"Come in, children."
"Mother! mother! See here!" shouted Hans.
"Holy St. Bavon!" exclaimed the dame, springing over the door-step.
"What ails the boy!"
"Come quick, mother," he cried, in great excitement, working with all
his might, and driving in the ysbrekker at each word. "Don't you see?
_This_ is the spot--right here on the south side of the stump.
Why didn't we think of it last night? _The stump_ is the old
willow-tree--the one you cut down last spring because it shaded the
potatoes. That little tree wasn't here when father--Huzzah!"
Dame Brinker could not speak. She dropped on her knees beside Hans just
in time to see him drag forth--_the old stone pot_!
He thrust in his hand and took out--a piece of brick--then another--then
another--then, the stocking and the pouch, black and mouldy, but filled
with the long lost treasure!