It is a beautiful sight, but one has not long to look; before we can fairly distinguish them they are far in the distance. This time they are close upon one another; it is hard to say as they come speeding back from the flagstaff which will reach the columns first. There are new faces among the foremost – eager, glowing faces, unnoticed before. Katrinka is there, and Hilda, but Gretel and Rychie are in the rear. Gretel is wavering, but when Rychie passes her, she starts forward afresh. Now they are nearly beside Katrinka. Hilda is still in advance; she is almost "home." She has not faltered since that bugle note sent her flying; like an arrow still she is speeding toward the goal. Cheer after cheer rises in the air. Peter is silent but his eyes shine like stars. "Huzza! Huzza!"
The crier's voice is heard again.
"Hilda van Gleck, one mile!"
A loud murmur of approval runs through the crowd, catching the music in its course, till all seems one sound, with a glad rhythmic throbbing in its depths. When the flag waves all is still.
Once more the bugle blows a terrific blast. It sends off the boys like chaff before the wind – dark chaff I admit, and in big pieces.
It is whisked around at the flagstaff, driven faster yet by the cheers and shouts along the line. We begin to see what is coming. There are three boys in advance this time, and all abreast. Hans, Peter and Lambert. Carl soon breaks the ranks, rushing through with a whiff! Fly, Hans, fly, Peter, don't let Carl beat again. Carl the bitter, Carl the insolent. Van Mounen is flagging, but you are strong as ever. Hans and Peter, Peter and Hans; which is foremost? We love them both. We scarcely care which is the fleeter.
Hilda, Annie and Gretel seated upon the long crimson bench, can remain quiet no longer. They spring to their feet – so different, and yet one in eagerness. Hilda instantly reseats herself; none shall know how interested she is, none shall know how anxious, how filled with one hope. Shut your eyes then, Hilda – hide your face rippling with joy. Peter has beaten.
"Peter van Holp, one mile!" calls the crier.
The same buzz of excitement as before, while the judges take notes, the same throbbing of music through the din – but something is different. A little crowd presses close about some object, near the column. Carl has fallen. He is not hurt, though somewhat stunned. If he were less sullen he would find more sympathy in these warm young hearts. As it is they forget him as soon as he is fairly on his feet again.
The girls are to skate their third mile.
How resolute the little maidens look as they stand in a line! Some are solemn with a sense of responsibility, some wear a smile half bashful, half provoked, but one air of determination pervades them all.
This third mile may decide the race. Still if neither Gretel nor Hilda win, there is yet a chance among the rest for the Silver Skates.
Each girl feels sure that this time she will accomplish the distance in one-half the time. How they stamp to try their runners, how nervously they examine each strap – how erect they stand at last, every eye upon Madame van Gleck!
The bugle thrills through them again. With quivering eagerness they spring forward, bending, but in perfect balance. Each flashing stroke seems longer than the last.
Now they are skimming off in the distance.
Again the eager straining of eyes – again the shouts and cheering, again the thrill of excitement as, after a few moments, four or five, in advance of the rest, come speeding back, nearer, nearer to the white columns.
Who is first? Not Rychie, Katrinka, Annie, nor Hilda, nor the girl in yellow – but Gretel – Gretel, the fleetest sprite of a girl that ever skated. She was but playing in the earlier race, now she is in earnest, or rather something within her has determined to win. That lithe little form makes no effort; but it cannot stop – not until the goal is passed!
In vain the crier lifts his voice – he cannot be heard. He has no news to tell – it is already ringing through the crowd. Gretel has won the Silver Skates!
Like a bird she has flown over the ice, like a bird she looks about her in a timid, startled way. She longs to dart to the sheltered nook where her father and mother stand. But Hans is beside her – the girls are crowding round. Hilda's kind, joyous voice breathes in her ear. From that hour, none will despise her. Goose-girl or not, Gretel stands acknowledged Queen of the Skaters!
With natural pride Hans turns to see if Peter van Holp is witnessing his sister's triumph. Peter is not looking toward them at all. He is kneeling, bending his troubled face low, and working hastily at his skate-strap. Hans is beside him at once.
"Are you in trouble, mynheer?"
"Ah, Hans! that you? Yes, my fun is over. I tried to tighten my strap – to make a new hole – and this botheration of a knife has cut it nearly in two."
"Mynheer," said Hans, at the same time pulling off a skate – "you must use my strap!"
"Not I, indeed, Hans Brinker," cried Peter, looking up, "though I thank 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.
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.