The Silver Skates Read online

  “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 homewards from Amsterdam, she became convinced that a great burly boy was coming down the canal towards 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 towards 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 neighbourhood.

  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.

  “Goodbye, 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. “Goodbye! 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, towards 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 anyone, 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 fair 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 skein 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 today? I must buy peat and meal for my mother early tomorrow 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 homewards 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.

  Chapter 40

  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 woollen, 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’s 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. Towards 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 youself.”

  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 learnt 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 today?”

  “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 towards 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 towards 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 goodbye, 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 doesn’t the boy wear his new ones?”

  Chapter 41

  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 towards 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 grey, 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 towards them.

  “Huzza, girls, I’ve found work!”

  This brought his mother to the cottage door.

  She too had pleasant tidings. 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 learnt that Hans had parted with his treasures to obtain it, she sighed as she exclaimed:

  “Bless thee, child! That will be a sore los
s for thee!”

  “Here, Mother,” said the boy, plunging his hands far into his pocket, “here is more. We shall be rich if we keep on!”

  “Ay, 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. 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?”