Annie Bouman had a healthy distaste for Janzoon Kolp. Janzoon Kolp, in
his own rough way, adored Annie. Annie declared that 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. 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.