perfectly satisfied. The message was delivered; Dr. Boekman had his son
safe and sound; and the poor lad had done nothing sinful after all,
except in thinking his father would have abandoned him for an accident.
To be sure, the graceful stripling had become rather a heavy man--Raff
had unconsciously hoped to clasp that same boyish hand again--but all
things were changed to Raff, for that matter. So he pushed back every
feeling but joy, as he saw father and son sitting side by side at his
hearthstone. Meantime, Hans was wholly occupied in the thought of Thomas
Higgs' happiness in being able to be the meester's assistant again; and
Dame Brinker was sighing softly to herself, wishing that the lad's
mother were alive to see him--such a fine young gentleman as he was; and
wondering how Dr. Boekman could bear to see the silver watch getting so
dull. He had worn it ever since Raff handed it over, that was evident.
What had he done with the gold one he used to wear?
The light was shining full upon Dr. Boekman's face. How contented he
looked; how much younger and brighter than formerly. The hard lines were
quite melting away. He was laughing, as he said to the father:
"Am I not a happy man, Raff Brinker? My son will sell out his factory
this month, and open a warehouse in Amsterdam. I shall have all my
spectacle-cases for nothing."
Hans started from his reverie. "A warehouse, mynheer! and will Thomas
Higgs--I mean--is your son not to be your assistant again?"
A shade passed over the meester's face, but he brightened with an
effort, as he replied:
"Oh no, Laurens has had quite enough of that. He wishes to be a
merchant."
Hans appeared so surprised and disappointed that his friend asked
good-naturedly:
"Why so silent, boy? Is it any disgrace to be a merchant?"
"N--not a disgrace, mynheer," stammered Hans--"but----"
"But what?"
"Why, the other calling is so much better," answered Hans, "so much
nobler. I think, mynheer," he added, kindling with enthusiasm, "that to
be a surgeon,--to cure the sick and crippled, to save human life, to be
able to do what you have done for my father--is the grandest thing on
earth."
The doctor was regarding him sternly. Hans felt rebuked. His cheeks were
flushed; hot tears were gathering under his lashes.
"It is an ugly business, boy, this surgery," said the doctor, still
frowning at Hans; "it requires great patience, self-denial and
perseverance."
"I am sure it does," cried Hans, kindling again. "It calls for wisdom
too, and a reverence for God's work. Ah, mynheer, it may have its trials
and drawbacks--but you do not mean what you say--it is great and noble,
not ugly! Pardon me, mynheer. It is not for me to speak so boldly."
Dr. Boekman was evidently displeased. He turned his back on the boy, and
conferred aside with Laurens. Meanwhile the dame scowled a terrible
warning at Hans. These great people, she knew well enough, never like to
hear poor folk speak up so pert.
The meester turned around.
"How old are you, Hans Brinker?"
"Fifteen, mynheer," was the startled reply.
"Would you like to become a physician?"
"Yes, mynheer," answered Hans, quivering with excitement.
"Would you be willing, with your parents' consent, to devote yourself to
study, to go to the University--and, in time, be a student in my
office?"
"YES, mynheer."
"You would not grow restless, think you, and change your mind just as I
had set my heart upon preparing you to be my successor?"
Hans' eyes flashed.
"No, mynheer, I would not change."
"You may believe him, there," cried the dame, who could remain quiet no
longer. "Hans is like a rock, when once he decides; and as for study,
mynheer, the child has almost grown fast to his books of late. He can
jumble off Latin already, like any priest!"
The doctor smiled. "Well, Hans, I see nothing to prevent us from
carrying out this plan, if your father agrees."
"Ahem," said Raff, too proud of his boy to be very meek, "the fact is,
mynheer, I prefer an active, out-of-door life, myself. But if the lad's
inclined to study for a meester, and he'd have the benefit of your good
word to push him on in the world, it's all one to me. The money's all
that's a wanting, but it mightn't be long, with two strong pair of arms
to earn it, before we----"
"Tut! tut!" interrupted the doctor, "if I take your right hand man away,
I must pay the cost, and glad enough will I be to do it. It will be like
having _two_ sons--eh, Laurens? One a merchant and the other a
surgeon--I shall be the happiest man in Holland! Come to me in the
morning, Hans, and we will arrange matters at once."
Hans bowed assent. He dared not trust himself to speak.
"And, Brinker," continued the doctor, "my son Laurens will need a
trusty, ready man like you, when he opens his warehouse in Amsterdam;
some one to overlook matters, and see that the lazy clowns round about
the place do their duty. Some one to----Why don't you tell him yourself,
you rascal!"
This last was addressed to the son, and did not sound half as fierce as
it looks in print. The rascal and Raff soon understood each other
perfectly.
"I'm loath to leave the dykes," said the latter, after they had talked
together a while, "but you have made me such a good offer, mynheer, I'd
be robbing my family if I let it go past me."
* * * * *
Take a long look at Hans as he sits there staring gratefully at the
meester, for you shall not see him again for many years.
And Gretel--Ah, what a vista of puzzling work suddenly opens before her!
Yes, for dear Hans' sake she will study now. If he really is to be a
meester, his sister must not shame his greatness.
How faithfully those glancing eyes shall yet seek for the jewels that
lie hidden in rocky school-books! And how they shall yet brighten and
droop at the coming of one whom she knows of now, only as the boy who
wore a red cap on that wonderful day when she found the Silver Skates in
her apron!
But the doctor and Laurens are going. Dame Brinker is making her best
curtsey. Raff stands beside her, looking every inch a man as he grasps
the meester's hand. Through the open cottage door we can look out upon
the level Dutch landscape all alive with the falling snow.
CONCLUSION
Our story is nearly told. Time passes in Holland just as surely and
steadily as here; in that respect no country is odd.
To the Brinker family it has brought great changes. Hans has spent the
years faithfully and profitably, conquering obstacles as they arose, and
pursuing one object with all the energy of his nature. If often the way
has been rugged, his resolution has never failed. Sometimes he echoes,
with his good old friend, the words said long ago in that little cottage
near Broek: "Surgery is an ugly business;" but always in his heart of
hearts lingers the echo of those truer words, "It is great and noble! it
awakes a reverence for God's work!"
Were you in Amsterdam to-day, you might see the famous Dr. Brinker
riding in his grand coach to visit his patients; or, it might be, you
would see him skating with his own boys and girls upon the frozen canal.
For Annie Bouman, the beautiful, frank-hearted peasant girl, you would
inquire in vain; but Annie Brinker, the vrouw of the great physician, is
very like her--only, as Hans says, she is even lovelier, wiser, more
like a fairy godmother than ever.
Peter van Holp, also, is a married man. I could have told you before,
that he and Hilda would join hands and glide through life together, just
as years ago, they skimmed side by side over the frozen, sunlit river.
At one time, I came near hinting that Katrinka and Carl would join
hands. It is fortunate now that the report was not started, for Katrinka
changed her mind, and is single to this day. The lady is not quite so
merry as formerly, and, I grieve to say, some of the tinkling bells are
out of tune. But she is the life of her social circle, still. I wish she
would be in earnest, just for a little while, but no; it is not her
nature. Her cares and sorrows do nothing more than disturb the tinkling;
they never waken any deeper music.
Rychie's soul has been stirred to its depths during these long years.
Her history would tell how seed carelessly sown is sometimes reaped in
anguish, and how a golden harvest may follow a painful planting. If I
mistake not, you may be able to read the written record before long;
that is, if you are familiar with the Dutch language. In the witty, but
earnest author whose words are welcomed at this day, in thousands of
Holland homes, few could recognize the haughty, flippant Rychie who
scoffed at little Gretel.
Lambert van Mounen, and Ludwig van Holp, are good Christian men, and,
what is more easily to be seen at a glance, thriving citizens. Both are
dwellers in Amsterdam, but one clings to the old city of that name, and
the other is a pilgrim to the new. Van Mounen's present home is not far
from the Central Park, and he says if the New Yorkers do their duty, the
Park will, in time, equal his beautiful Bosch, near the Hague. He often
thinks of the Katrinka of his boyhood, but he is glad now that Katrinka,
the woman, sent him away; though it seemed at the time his darkest hour.
Ben's sister Jennie has made him very happy, happier than he could have
been with any one else in the wide world.
Carl Schummel has had a hard life. His father met with reverses in
business; and as Carl had not many warm friends, and above all, was not
sustained by noble principles, he has been tossed about by Fortune's
battle-dore until his gayest feathers are nearly all knocked off. He is
a bookkeeper, in the thriving Amsterdam house of Boekman and
Schimmelpenninck. Voostenwalbert, the junior partner, treats him kindly;
and he, in turn, is very respectful to the "monkey with a long name for
a tail."
Of all our group of Holland friends, Jacob Poot is the only one who has
passed away. Good-natured, true-hearted and unselfish to the last, he is
mourned now, as heartily as he was loved and laughed at while on earth.
He grew to be very thin before he died; thinner than Benjamin Dobbs, who
is now portliest among the portly.
Raff Brinker and his vrouw have been living comfortably in Amsterdam for
many years--a faithful, happy pair; as simple and straightforward in
their good fortune as they were patient and trustful in darker days.
They have a zommerhuis near the old cottage and thither they often
repair with their children and grandchildren on the pleasant summer
afternoons when the pond-lilies rear their queenly heads above the
water.
The story of Hans Brinker would be but half told, if we did not leave
him with Gretel standing near. Dear, quick, patient little Gretel! What
is she now? Ask old Dr. Boekman, he will declare she is the finest
singer, the loveliest woman in Amsterdam; ask Hans and Annie, they will
assure you she is the dearest sister ever known; ask her husband, he
will tell you she is the brightest, sweetest little wife in Holland; ask
Dame Brinker and Raff, their eyes will glisten with joyous tears; ask
the poor, the air will be filled with blessings.
But, lest you forget a tiny form trembling and sobbing on the mound
before the Brinker cottage, ask the Van Glecks; they will never weary
telling of the darling little girl who won The Silver Skates.
THE END