you warmly. Go to your post, my friend, the bugle will sound in a
minute."
"Mynheer," pleaded Hans in a husky voice, "you have called me your
friend. Take this strap--quick! There is not an instant to lose. I shall
not skate this time--indeed I am out of practice. Mynheer, you _must_
take it"--and Hans blind and deaf to any remonstrance, slipped his strap
into Peter's skate and implored him to put it on.
"Come, Peter!" cried Lambert, from the line, "we are waiting for you."
"For madame's sake," pleaded Hans, "be quick. She is motioning to you to
join the racers. There the skate is almost on; quick, mynheer, fasten
it. I could not possibly win. The race lies between Master Schummel and
yourself."
"You are a noble fellow, Hans!" cried Peter yielding at last. He sprang
to his post just as the white handkerchief fell to the ground. The bugle
sends forth its blast, loud, clear and ringing.
Off go the boys!
"Mine gott," cries a tough old fellow from Delft. "They beat everything,
these Amsterdam youngsters. See them!"
See them, indeed! They are winged Mercuries every one of them. What mad
errand are they on? Ah, I know; they are hunting Peter van Holp. He is
some fleet-footed runaway from Olympus. Mercury and his troop of winged
cousins are in full chase. They will catch him! Now Carl is the
runaway--the pursuit grows furious--Ben is foremost!
The chase turns in a cloud of mist. It is coming this way. Who is hunted
now? Mercury himself. It is Peter, Peter van Holp; fly, Peter--Hans is
watching you. He is sending all his fleetness, all his strength into
your feet. Your mother and sister are pale with eagerness. Hilda is
trembling and dare not look up. Fly, Peter! the crowd has not gone
deranged, it is only cheering. The pursuers are close upon you! Touch
the white column! It beckons--it is reeling before you--it----
Huzza! Huzza! Peter has won the Silver Skates!
"PETER VAN HOLP!" shouted the crier. But who heard him? "Peter van
Holp!" shouted a hundred voices, for he was the favorite boy of the
place. Huzza! Huzza!
Now the music was resolved to be heard. It struck up a lively air, then
a tremendous march. The spectators thinking something new was about to
happen, deigned to listen and to look.
The racers formed in single file. Peter, being tallest, stood first.
Gretel, the smallest of all, took her place at the end. Hans, who had
borrowed a strap from the cake-boy, was near the head.
Three gaily twined arches were placed at intervals upon the river facing
the Van Gleck pavilion.
Skating slowly, and in perfect time to the music, the boys and girls
moved forward, led on by Peter.
It was beautiful to see the bright procession glide along like a living
creature. It curved and doubled, and drew its graceful length in and out
among the arches--whichever way Peter, the head, went, the body was sure
to follow. Sometimes it steered direct for the centre arch, then, as if
seized with a new impulse, turned away and curled itself about the first
one; then unwound slowly and bending low, with quick, snake-like
curvings, crossed the river, passing at length through the furthest
arch.
[Illustration: _Skating slowly the boys and girls moved forward_]
When the music was slow, the procession seemed to crawl like a thing
afraid; it grew livelier, and the creature darted forward with a spring,
gliding rapidly among the arches, in and out, curling, twisting,
turning, never losing form until, at the shrill call of the bugle rising
above the music, it suddenly resolved itself into boys and girls
standing in double semicircle before Madame van Gleck's pavilion.
Peter and Gretel stand in the centre in advance of the others. Madame
van Gleck rises majestically. Gretel trembles, but feels that she must
look at the beautiful lady. She cannot hear what is said, there is such
a buzzing all around her. She is thinking that she ought to try and make
a curtsey, such as her mother makes to the meester, when suddenly
something so dazzling is placed in her hand that she gives a cry of joy.
Then she ventures to look about her. Peter, too, has something in his
hands--"Oh! oh! how splendid!" she cries, and "oh! how splendid!" is
echoed as far as people can see.
Meantime the silver skates flash in the sunshine, throwing dashes of
light upon those two happy faces.
Mevrouw van Gend sends a little messenger with her bouquets. One for
Hilda, one for Carl, and others for Peter and Gretel.
At sight of the flowers the Queen of the Skaters becomes uncontrollable.
With a bright stare of gratitude she gathers skates and bouquet in her
apron--hugs them to her bosom, and darts off to search for her father
and mother in the scattering crowd.
XLV
JOY IN THE COTTAGE
Perhaps you were surprised to learn that Raff and his vrouw were at the
skating-race; you would have been more so had you been with them on the
evening of that merry 20th of December. To see the Brinker cottage
standing sulkily alone on the frozen marsh, with its bulgy,
rheumatic-looking walls, and its slouched hat of a roof pulled far over
its eyes, one would never suspect that a lively scene was passing
within. Without, nothing was left of the day but a low line of blaze at
the horizon. A few venturesome clouds had already taken fire, and
others, with their edges burning, were lost in the gathering smoke.
A stray gleam of sunshine slipping down from the willow stump crept
stealthily under the cottage. It seemed to feel that the inmates would
give it welcome if it could only get near them. The room under which it
hid was as clean as clean could be. The very cracks in the rafters were
polished. Delicious odors filled the air. A huge peat fire upon the
hearth sent flashes of harmless lightning at the sombre walls. It played
in turn upon the great leathern Bible, upon Gretel's closet-bed, the
household things on their pegs, and the beautiful Silver Skates and the
flowers upon the table. Dame Brinker's honest face shone and twinkled in
the changing light. Gretel and Hans, with arms entwined, were leaning
against the fireplace, laughing merrily, and Raff Brinker was dancing!
I do not mean that he was pirouetting or cutting a pigeon-wing, either
of which would have been entirely too undignified for the father of a
family; I simply affirm that while they were chatting pleasantly
together Raff suddenly sprang from his seat, snapped his fingers and
performed two or three flourishes very much like the climax of a
Highland Fling. Next he caught his vrouw in his arms and fairly lifted
her from the ground in his delight.
"Huzza!" he cried, "I have it! I have it! It's THOMAS HIGGS. That's the
name! It came upon me like a flash; write it down, lad, write it down!"
Some one knocked at the door.
"It's the meester," cried the delighted dame. "Goede Gunst! how things
come to pass!"
Mother and children came in merry collision as they rushed to open the
door.
It was not the doctor, after all, but three boys, Peter van Holp,
Lambert and Ben.
"Good-evening, young gentlemen," said Dame Brinker, so happy and proud
that she would scarce have been surprised at a visit from the King
himself.
"Good-evening, jufvrouw," said the trio, making magnificent bows.
"Dear me!" thought Dame Brinker as she bobbed up and down like a churn
dasher, "it's lucky I learned to curtsey at Heidelberg!"
Raff was content to return the boys' salutations with a respectful nod.
"Pray be seated, young masters," said the dame, as Gretel bashfully
thrust a stool toward them. "There's a lack of chairs as you see, but
this one by the fire is at your service, and if you don't mind the
hardness, that oak-chest is as good a seat as the best. That's right,
Hans, pull it out."
By the time the boys were seated to the dame's satisfaction, Peter,
acting as spokesman, had explained that they were going to attend a
lecture at Amsterdam, and had stopped on the way to return Hans' strap.
"Oh, mynheer," cried Hans earnestly, "it is too much trouble. I am very
sorry."
"No trouble at all, Hans. I could have waited for you to come to your
work to-morrow, had I not wished to call. And, Hans, talking of your
work, my father is much pleased with it; a carver by trade could not
have done it better. He would like to have the south arbor ornamented
also, but I told him you were going to school again."
"Aye!" put in Raff Brinker, emphatically, "Hans must go to school at
once--and Gretel as well--that is true."
"I am glad to hear you say so," responded Peter, turning toward the
father, "and very glad to know that you are again a well man."
"Yes, young master, a well man, and able to work as steady as
ever--thank God!"
[Here Hans hastily wrote something on the edge of a time-worn almanac
that hung by the chimney-place.] "Aye, that's right, lad, set it down.
Figgs! Wiggs! Alack! Alack!" added Raff in great dismay, "it's gone
again!"
"All right, father," said Hans, "the name's down now in black and white.
Here, look at it, father; mayhap the rest will come to you. If we had
the place as well, it would be complete;" then turning to Peter, he
said in a low tone, "I have an important errand in town, mynheer, and
if----"
"Wist!" exclaimed the dame, lifting her hands, "not to Amsterdam
to-night, and you've owned your legs were aching under you. Nay,
nay--it'll be soon enough to go at early daylight."
"Daylight indeed!" echoed Raff, "that would never do. Nay, Meitje, he
must go this hour."
The vrouw looked for an instant as if Raff's recovery was becoming
rather a doubtful benefit; her word was no longer sole law in the house.
Fortunately, the proverb, "Humble wife is husband's boss," had taken
deep root in her mind; even as the dame pondered, it bloomed.
"Very well, Raff," she said smilingly, "it is thy boy as well as mine.
Ah! I've a troublesome house, young masters."
Just then Peter drew a long strap from his pocket.
Handing it to Hans he said in an undertone, "I need not thank you for
lending me this, Hans Brinker. Such boys as you do not ask for
thanks--but I must say you did me a great kindness, and I am proud to
acknowledge it. I did not know," he added, laughingly, "until fairly in
the race, how anxious I was to win."
Hans was glad to join in Peter's laugh--it covered his embarrassment and
gave his face a chance to cool off a little. Honest, generous boys like
Hans have such a stupid way of blushing when you least expect it.
"It was nothing, mynheer," said the dame, hastening to her son's relief;
"the lad's whole soul was in having you win the race, I know it was!"
This helped matters beautifully.
"Ah, mynheer," Hans hurried to say, "from the first start I felt stiff
and strange on my feet; I was well out of it so long as I had no chance
of winning."
Peter looked rather distressed.
"We may hold different opinions there. That part of the business
troubles me. It is too late to mend it now, but it would be really a
kindness to me if----"
The rest of Peter's speech was uttered so confidentially that I cannot
record it. Enough to say, Hans soon started back in dismay, and Peter,
looking very much ashamed, stammered out something to the effect that he
would keep them, since he won the race, but it was "all wrong."
Here Van Mounen coughed, as if to remind Peter that lecture-hour was
approaching fast. At the same moment Ben laid something upon the table.
"Ah," exclaimed Peter, "I forgot my other errand. Your sister ran off so
quickly to-day, that Madame van Gleck had no opportunity to give her the
case for her skates."
"S-s-t!" said Dame Brinker, shaking her head reproachfully at Gretel,
"she was a very rude girl I'm sure." [Secretly, she was thinking that
very few women had such a fine little daughter.]
"No, indeed," laughed Peter, "she did exactly the right thing--ran home
with her richly won treasures--who would not? Don't let us detain you,
Hans," he continued turning around as he spoke; but Hans, who was
eagerly watching the father, seemed to have forgotten their presence.
Meantime, Raff, lost in thought was repeating under his breath, "Thomas
Higgs--Thomas Higgs, aye, that's the name. Alack! if I could but tell
the place as well."
The skate-case was elegantly made of crimson morocco, ornamented with
silver. If a fairy had breathed upon its tiny key, or Jack Frost himself
designed its delicate tracery, they could not have been more daintily
beautiful. FOR THE FLEETEST was written upon the cover in sparkling
letters. It was lined with velvet, and in one corner was stamped the
name and address of the maker.
Gretel thanked Peter in her own simple way; then, being quite delighted
and confused, and not knowing what else to do, lifted the case,
carefully examining it in every part. "It's made by Mynheer Birmingham,"
she said after a while, still blushing and holding it before her eyes.
"Birmingham!" replied Lambert van Mounen, "that's the name of a place in
England. Let me see it.
"Ha! ha!" he laughed, holding the open case toward the firelight, "no
wonder you thought so; but it's a slight mistake. The case was made at
Birmingham, but the maker's name is in smaller letters. Humph! they're
so small, I can't read them."
"Let me try," said Peter, leaning over his shoulder. "Why, man, it's
perfectly distinct. It's T--H--it's T----"
"Well!" exclaimed Lambert, triumphantly, "if you can read it so easily,
let's hear it, T--H, what?"
"T. H--T. H. Oh! why, Thomas Higgs, to be sure," replied Peter, pleased
to be able to decipher it at last. Then, feeling they had been behaving
rather unceremoniously, he turned toward Hans--
Peter turned pale! What was the matter with the people? Raff and Hans
had started up, and were staring at him, in glad amazement. Gretel
looked wild. Dame Brinker, with an unlighted candle in her hand, was
rushing about the room, crying, "Hans! Hans! where's your hat? oh, the
meester! Oh, the meester!"
"Birmingham! Higgs!" exclaimed Hans. "Did you say Higgs? we've found
him! I must be off."
"You see, young masters," panted the dame, at the same time snatching
Hans' hat from the bed, "you see--we know him--he's our--no, he isn't--I
mean--oh, Hans, you must go to Amsterdam this minute!"
"Good-night, mynheers," panted Hans, radiant with sudden joy,
"good-night--you will excuse me, I must go.
Birmingham--Higgs--Higgs--Birmingham," and seizing his hat from his
mother, and his skates from Gretel, he rushed from the cottage.
What could the boys think, but that the entire Brinker family had
suddenly gone crazy!
They bade an embarrassed "good-evening," and turned to go. But Raff
stopped them.
"This Thomas Higgs, young masters, is a--a person."
"Ah!" exclaimed Peter, quite sure that Raff was the most crazy of all.
"Yes--a person--a--ahem!--a friend. We thought him dead. I hope it is
the same man. In England, did you say?"
"Yes, Birmingham," answered Peter; "it must be Birmingham in England."
"I know the man," said Ben, addressing Lambert. "His factory is not four
miles from our place--a queer fellow--still as an oyster--don't seem at
all like an Englishman. I've often seen him--a solemn-looking chap, with
magnificent eyes. He made a beautiful writing-case once for me to give
Jenny on her birthday--makes pocketbooks, telescope-cases, and all
kinds of leather work."
As this was said in English, Van Mounen of course translated it for the
benefit of all concerned, noticing meanwhile that neither Raff nor his
vrouw looked very miserable though Raff was trembling, and the dame's
eyes were swimming with tears.
You may believe the doctor heard every word of the story, when later in
the evening he came driving back with Hans. "The three young gentlemen
had been gone sometime," Dame Brinker said, "but like enough, by
hurrying, it would be easy to find them coming out from the Lecture,
wherever that was."
"True," said Raff, nodding his head, "the vrouw always hits upon the
right thing. It would be well to see the young English gentleman,
mynheer, before he forgets all about Thomas Higgs--it's a slippery name,
d'ye see?--one can't hold it safe a minute. It come upon me sudden and
strong as a pile-driver, and my boy writ it down. Aye, mynheer, I'd
haste to talk with the English lad; he's seen your son many a time--only
to think on't!"
Dame Brinker took up the thread of the discourse.
"You'll pick out the lad quick enough, mynheer, because he's in company
with Master Peter van Holp; and his hair curls all up over his forehead
like foreign folk's, and, if you hear him speak, he talks kind of big
and fast, only it's English; but that wouldn't be any hindrance to your
honor."
The doctor had already lifted his hat to go. With a beaming face, he
muttered something about its being just like the young scamp to give
himself a rascally English name; called Hans "my son"--thereby making
that young gentleman happy as a lord--and left the cottage with very
little ceremony, considering what a great meester he was.
* * * * *
The grumbling coachman comforted himself by speaking his mind, as he
drove back to Amsterdam. Since the doctor was safely stowed away in the
coach, and could not hear a word, it was a fine time to say terrible
things of folks who hadn't no manner of feeling for nobody, and who were
always wanting the horses a dozen times of a night.
XLVI
MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF THOMAS HIGGS
Higgs' factory was a mine of delight for the gossips of Birmingham. It
was a small building, but quite large enough to hold a mystery. Who the
proprietor was, or where he came from, none could tell. He looked like a
gentleman--that was certain--though everybody knew he had risen from an
apprenticeship; and he could handle his pen like a writing-master.
Years ago he had suddenly appeared in the place a lad of
eighteen--learned his trade faithfully, and risen in the confidence of
his employer--been taken in as a partner soon after his time was
up--and, finally, when old Willett died, had assumed the business on his
own hands. This was all that was known of his affairs.
It was a common remark among some of the good people that he never had a
word to say to a Christian soul; while others declared that though he
spoke beautiful, when he chose to, there was something wrong in his
accent. A tidy man, too, they called him, all but for having that
scandalous green pond alongside of his factory, which wasn't deep enough
for an eel, and was "just a fever-nest, as sure as you live."
His nationality was a great puzzle. The English name spoke plain enough
for _one_ side of his house, but of what manner of nation was his
mother? If she'd been an American, he'd certain have had high
cheek-bones and reddish skin; if a German, he would have known the
language, and Squire Smith declared he didn't; if French (and his
having that frog-pond made it seem likely) it would come out in his
speech. No--there was nothing he could be but Dutch. And strangest of
all, though the man always pricked up his ears when you talked of
Holland, he didn't seem to know the first thing about the country when
you put him to the point.
Anyhow, as no letters ever came to him from his mother's family in
Holland, and as nobody living had ever seen old Higgs, the family
couldn't be anything much. Probably Thomas Higgs himself was no better
than he should be, for all he pretended to carry himself so straight;
and for their parts, the gossips declared, they were not going to
trouble their heads about him. Consequently Thomas Higgs and his affairs
were never-failing subjects of discussion.
Picture, then, the consternation, among all the good people when it was
announced by "somebody who was there and ought to know," that the
post-boy had that very morning handed Higgs a foreign-looking letter,
and the man had "turned as white as the wall; rushed to his factory,
talked a bit with one of the head work-men, and without bidding a
creature good-bye, was off bag and baggage before you could wink,
ma'am." Mistress Scrubbs, his landlady, was in deep affliction. The dear
soul became quite out of breath while speaking of him--"to leave
lodgin's in that suddent way, without never so much as a day's warnin'
which was what every woman who didn't wish to be trodden underfoot,
which thank Hevving wasn't _her_ way, had a perfect right to expect;
yes, and a week's warnin' now you mention it, and without even so much
as sayin' many thanks to you, Mistress Scrubbs, for all past kindnesses
which was most numerous though she said it who shouldn't say it;
leastwise she wasn't never no kind of a person to be lookin' for thanks
every minnit--it was really scanderlous, though to be sure Mister 'iggs
paid up everythin' to the last farthin' and it fairly brought tears to
her eyes to see his dear empty boots lyin' there in the corner of his
room, which alone showed trouble of mind for he always stood 'em up
straight as solgers though bein' half-soled twice they hadn't of course
been worth takin' away."
Whereupon her dearest friend, Miss Scrumpkins, ran home to tell all
about it. And, as everybody knew the Scrumpkinses, a shining gossamer of
news was soon woven from one end of the street to the other.
An investigating committee met, that evening, at Mrs.
Snigham's--sitting, in secret session, over her best china. Though
invited only to a quiet "tea," the amount of judicial business they
transacted on the occasion was prodigious. The biscuits were actually
cold before the committee had a chance to eat anything. There was so
much to talk over--and it was so important that it should be firmly
established that each member had always been "certain sure that
something extraordinary would be happening to that man yet," that it was
near eight o'clock before Mrs. Snigham gave anybody a second cup.
XLVII
BROAD SUNSHINE
One snowy day in January, Laurens Boekman went with his father to pay
his respects to the Brinker family.
Raff was resting after the labors of the day; Gretel, having filled and
lighted his pipe, was brushing every speck of ash from the hearth; the
dame was spinning; and Hans, perched upon a stool by the window, was
diligently studying his lessons--A peaceful, happy household whose main
excitement during the past week had been the looking forward to this
possible visit from Thomas Higgs.
As soon as the grand presentation was over, Dame Brinker insisted upon
giving her guests some hot tea; it was enough to freeze any one, she
said, to be out in such crazy, blustering weather. While they were
talking with her husband she whispered to Gretel that the young
gentleman's eyes and her boy's were certainly as much alike as four
beans, to say nothing of a way they both had of looking as if they were
stupid and yet knew as much as a body's grandfather.
Gretel was disappointed. She had looked forward to a tragic scene, such
as Annie Bouman had often described to her, from story books; and here
was the gentleman who came so near being a murderer, who for ten years
had been wandering over the face of the earth, who had believed himself
deserted and scorned by his father--the very young gentleman who had
fled from his country in such magnificent trouble, sitting by the fire
just as pleasant and natural as could be!
To be sure his voice had trembled when he talked with her parents, and
he had met his father's look with a bright kind of smile that would have
suited a dragon-killer bringing the waters of perpetual youth to his
king--but after all he wasn't at all like the conquered hero in Annie's
book. He did not say, lifting his hand toward Heaven, "I hereby swear to
be forever faithful to my home, my God and my country!" which would have
been only right and proper under the circumstances.