The Silver Skates Read online

  However, the fun of skating glides over all barriers of speech. Through this, Ben soon felt that he knew the boys well, and when Jacob (with a sprinkling of French and English for Ben’s benefit) told of a grand project they had planned, his cousin could now and then put in a “ja” or a nod in quite a familiar way.

  The project was a grand one, and there was to be a fine opportunity for carrying it out, for, besides the allotted holiday of the Festival of St Nicholas, four extra days were to be allowed for a general cleaning of the schoolhouse.

  Jacob and Ben had obtained permission to go on a long skating journey – no less a one than from Broek to The Hague, the capital of Holland* – a distance of nearly fifty miles!

  “And now, boys,” added Jacob, when he had told the plan, “who will go with us?”

  “I will! I will!” cried the boys eagerly.

  “And so will I!” ventured little Voostenwalbert.

  “Ha! Ha!” laughed Jacob, holding his fat sides, and shaking his puffy cheeks. “You go? Such a little fellow as you? Why, youngster, you haven’t left off your pads yet!”

  Now, in Holland very young children wear a thin, padded cushion around their heads, surmounted with a framework of whalebone and ribbon, to protect them in case of a fall, and it is the dividing line between babyhood and childhood when they leave it off. Voost had arrived at this dignity several years before. Consequently, Jacob’s insult was rather too great for endurance.

  “Look out what you say!” he squeaked. “Lucky for you when you can leave off your pads – you’re padded all over!”

  “Ha! Ha!” roared all the boys except Master Dobbs, who could not understand. “Ha! Ha!” and the good-natured Jacob laughed more than any.

  “It ish my fat – yaw – he say I bees pad mit fat!” he explained to Ben.

  So a vote was passed unanimously in favour of allowing the now popular Voost to join the party if his parents would consent.

  “Goodnight!” sang out the happy youngster, skating homewards with all his might.

  “Goodnight!”

  “We can stop at Haarlem, Jacob, and show your cousin the big organ,”* said Peter van Holp eagerly, “and at Leiden, too, where there’s no end to the sights; and spend a day and night at The Hague, for my married sister, who lives there, will be delighted to see us; and the next morning we can start for home.”

  “All right!” responded Jacob, who was not much of a talker.

  Ludwig had been regarding his brother with enthusiastic admiration.

  “Hurrah for you, Peter! It takes you to make plans! Mother’ll be as full of it as we are when we tell her we can take her love direct to Sister van Gend. My! but it’s cold,” he added, “cold enough to take a fellow’s head off his shoulders. We’d better go home.”

  “What if it is cold, old tender skin?” cried Carl, who was busily practising a step which he called the “double edge”. “Great skating we should have by this time, if it was as warm as it was last December. Don’t you know if it wasn’t an extra cold winter, and an early one into the bargain, we couldn’t go?”

  “I know it’s an extra cold night, anyhow,” said Ludwig. “Whew! I’m going home!”

  Peter van Holp took out a bulgy gold watch, and holding it towards the moonlight, as well as his benumbed fingers would permit, called out:

  “Hallo! It’s nearly eight o’clock! St Nicholas is about by this time, and I, for one, want to see the little ones stare. Goodnight!”

  “Goodnight!’ cried one and all – and off they started, shouting, singing and laughing as they flew along.

  Where were Gretel and Hans?

  Ah! how suddenly joy sometimes comes to an end!

  They had skated about an hour, keeping aloof from the others, quite contented with each other, and Gretel had exclaimed, “Ah, Hans, how beautiful! How fine! To think that we both have skates! I tell you the stork brought us good luck!” – when they heard something!

  It was a scream – a very faint scream! No one else upon the canal observed it, but Hans knew its meaning too well. Gretel saw him turn white in the moonlight as he busily tore off his skates.

  “Father!” he cried. “He has frightened our mother!” And Gretel ran after him towards the house as rapidly as she could.

  Chapter 9

  The Festival of St Nicholas

  We all know how, before the Christmas tree began to flourish in the home life of our country, a certain “right jolly old elf”, with “eight tiny reindeer”, used to drive his sleigh-load of toys up to our house tops, and then bound down the chimney to fill the stockings so hopefully hung by the fireplace. His friends called him Santa Claus, and those who were most intimate ventured to say “Old Nick”. It was said that he originally came from Holland. Doubtless he did, but if so, he certainly, like many other foreigners, changed his ways very much after landing upon our shores. In Holland, St Nicholas is a veritable saint, and often appears in full costume, with his embroidered robes, glittering with gems and gold, his mitre, his crozier and his jewelled gloves. Here, Santa Claus comes rollicking along on 25th December, our holy Christmas morn. In Holland, Saint Nicholas visits earth on the 5th, a time especially appropriated to him. Early on the morning of the 6th he distributes his candies, toys and treasures, then vanishes for a year.

  Christmas Day is devoted by the Hollanders to church rites and pleasant family visiting. It is on St Nicholas’s Eve that their young people become half wild with joy and expectation. To some of them it is a sorry time, for the saint is very candid, and if any of them have been bad during the past year, he is quite sure to tell them so. Sometimes he carries a birch rod under his arm, and advises the parents to give them scoldings in place of confections, and floggings instead of toys.

  It was well that the boys hastened to their abodes on that bright winter evening, for in less than an hour afterwards, the saint made his appearance in half the homes of Holland. He visited the king’s palace, and in the selfsame moment appeared in Annie Bouman’s comfortable home. Probably one of our silver half-dollars would have purchased all that his saintship left at the peasant Bouman’s, but a half-dollar’s worth will sometimes do for the poor what hundreds of dollars may fail to do for the rich: it makes them happy and grateful, fills them with new peace and love.

  Hilda van Gleck’s little brothers and sisters were in a high state of excitement that night: they had been admitted into the grand parlour, they were dressed in their best and had been given two cakes apiece at supper. Hilda was as joyous as any. Why not? St Nicholas would never cross a girl of fourteen from his list just because she was tall and looked almost like a woman. On the contrary, he would probably exert himself to do honour to such an august-looking damsel. Who could tell? So she sported and laughed and danced as gaily as the youngest, and was the soul of all their merry games. Father, Mother and Grandmother looked on approvingly – so did Grandfather, before he spread his large red handkerchief over his face, leaving only the top of his skullcap visible. This kerchief was his ensign of sleep.

  Earlier in the evening all had joined in the fun. In the general hilarity, there had seemed to be a difference only in bulk between Grandfather and the baby. Indeed, a shade of solemn expectation, now and then flitting across the faces of the younger members, had made them seem rather more thoughtful than their elders.

  Now the spirit of fun reigned supreme. The very flames danced and capered in the polished grate. A pair of prim candles that had been staring at the astral lamp began to wink at other candles far away in the mirrors. There was a long bell rope suspended from the ceiling in the corner, made of glass beads netted over a cord nearly as thick as your wrist. It generally hung in the shadow and made no sign, but tonight it twinkled from end to end. Its handle of crimson glass sent reckless dashes of red at the papered wall, turning its dainty blue stripes into purple. Passers-by halted to catch the merry laughter floating throug
h curtain and sash into the street, then skipped on their way with a startled consciousness that the village was wide awake. At last, matters grew so uproarious that the grandsire’s red kerchief came down from his face with a jerk. What decent old gentleman could sleep in such a racket? Mynheer van Gleck regarded his children with astonishment. The baby even showed symptoms of hysterics. It was high time to attend to business. Madame suggested that if they wished to see the good St Nicholas, they should sing the same loving invitation that had brought him the year before.

  The baby stared and thrust his fist into his mouth as Mynheer put him down upon the floor. Soon he sat erect, and looked with a sweet scowl at the company. With his lace and embroideries, and his crown of blue ribbon and whalebone (for he was not quite past the tumbling age), he looked like the king of the babies.

  The other children, each holding a pretty willow basket, formed at once a ring, and moved slowly around the little fellow, lifting their eyes, meanwhile, for the saint to whom they were about to address themselves was yet in mysterious quarters.

  Madame commenced playing softly upon the piano. Soon the voices rose – gentle youthful voices, rendered all the sweeter for their tremor:

  Welcome, friend! St Nicholas, welcome!

  Bring no rod for us tonight!

  While our voices bid thee welcome,

  Every heart with joy is light!

  Tell us every fault and failing,

  We will bear thy keenest railing;

  So we sing – so we sing –

  Thou shalt tell us everything!

  Welcome, friend! St Nicholas, welcome!

  Welcome to this merry band!

  Happy children greet thee, welcome!

  Thou art gladd’ning all the land!

  Fill each empty hand and basket,

  ’Tis thy little ones who ask it;

  So we sing – so we sing –

  Thou wilt bring us everything!

  During the chorus, sundry glances, half in eagerness, half in dread, had been cast towards the polished folding doors. Now a loud knocking was heard. The circle was broken in an instant. Some of the little ones, with a strange mixture of fear and delight, pressed against their mother’s knee. Grandfather bent forwards, with his chin resting upon his hand; Grandmother lifted her spectacles; Mynheer van Gleck, seated by the fireplace, slowly drew his meerschaum from his mouth, while Hilda and the other children settled themselves beside him in an expectant group.

  The knocking was heard again.

  “Come in,” said Madame softly.

  The door slowly opened, and St Nicholas, in full array, stood before them. You could have heard a pin drop! Soon he spoke. What a mysterious majesty in his voice! What kindliness in his tones!

  “Karel van Gleck, I am pleased to greet thee, and thy honoured vrouw Kathrine, and thy son and his good vrouw Annie!

  “Children, I greet ye all! Hendrick, Hilda, Broom, Katy, Huygens and Lucretia! And thy cousins, Wolfert, Diedrich, Mayken, Voost and Katrina! Good children ye have been, in the main, since I last accosted ye. Diedrich was rude at the Haarlem fair last fall, but he has tried to atone for it since. Mayken has failed of late in her lessons, and too many sweets and trifles have gone to her lips, and too few stivers to her charity box. Diedrich, I trust, will be a polite, manly boy for the future, and Mayken will endeavour to shine as a student. Let her remember too that economy and thrift are needed in the foundation of a worthy and generous life. Little Katy has been cruel to the cat more than once. St Nicholas can hear the cat cry when its tail is pulled. I will forgive her if she will remember from this hour that the smallest dumb creatures have feelings and must not be abused.”

  As Katy burst into a frightened cry, the saint graciously remained silent until she was soothed.

  “Master Broom,” he resumed, “I warn thee that boys who are in the habit of putting snuff upon the foot stove of the schoolmistress may one day be discovered, and receive a flogging…”

  Master Broom coloured and stared in great astonishment.

  “But thou art such an excellent scholar, I shall make thee no further reproof.

  “Thou, Hendrick, didst distinguish thyself in the archery match last spring, and hit the bull’s eye, though the bird was swung before it to unsteady thine eye. I give thee credit for excelling in manly sport and exercise – though I must not unduly countenance thy boat racing, since it leaves thee too little time for thy proper studies.

  “Lucretia and Hilda shall have a blessed sleep tonight. The consciousness of kindness to the poor, devotion in their souls and cheerful, hearty obedience to household rule will render them happy.

  “With one and all I avow myself well content. Goodness, industry, benevolence and thrift have prevailed in your midst. Therefore, my blessing upon you – and may the new year find all treading the paths of obedience, wisdom and love. Tomorrow you shall find more substantial proofs that I have been in your midst. Farewell!”

  With these words came a great shower of sugarplums upon a linen sheet spread out in front of the doors. A general scramble followed. The children fairly tumbled over each other in their eagerness to fill their baskets. Madame cautiously held the baby down in their midst, till the chubby little fists were filled. Then the bravest of the youngsters sprang up and burst open the closed doors. In vain they peered into the mysterious apartment – St Nicholas was nowhere to be seen.

  Soon there was a general rush to another room, where stood a table, covered with the finest and whitest of linen damask. Each child, in a flutter of excitement, laid a shoe upon it. The door was then carefully locked, and its key hidden in the mother’s bedroom. Next followed goodnight kisses, a grand family procession to the upper floor, merry farewells at bedroom doors – and silence, at last, reigned in the van Gleck mansion.

  Early the next morning the door was solemnly unlocked and opened in the presence of the assembled household, when lo! a sight appeared proving St Nicholas to be a saint of his word!

  Every shoe was filled to overflowing, and beside each stood many a coloured pile. The table was heavy with its load of presents – candles, toys, trinkets, books and other articles. Everyone had gifts, from Grandfather down to the baby.

  Little Katy clapped her hands with glee, and vowed, inwardly, that the cat should never know another moment’s grief.

  Hendrick capered about the room, flourishing a superb bow and arrows over his head. Hilda laughed with delight as she opened a crimson box and drew forth its glittering contents. The rest chuckled and said “Oh!” and “Ah!” over their treasures, very much as we did here in America last Christmas Day.

  With her glittering necklace in her hands, and a pile of books in her arms, Hilda stole towards her parents and held up her beaming face for a kiss. There was such an earnest, tender look in her bright eyes that her mother breathed a blessing as she leant over her.

  “I am delighted with this book. Thank you, Father,” she said, touching the top one with her chin. “I shall read it all day long.”

  “Ay, sweetheart,” said Mynheer, “you cannot do better. There is no one like Father Cats. If my daughter learns his Moral Emblems by heart, Mother and I may keep silent. The work you have there is the Emblems – his best work. You will find it enriched with rare engravings from van de Venne.”*

  (Considering that the back of the book was turned away, Mynheer certainly showed a surprising familiarity with an unopened volume presented by St Nicholas. It was strange, too, that the saint should have found certain things made by the elder children, and had actually placed them upon the table, labelled with parents’ and grandparents’ names. But all were too much absorbed in happiness to notice slight inconsistencies. Hilda saw, on her father’s face, the rapt expression he always wore when he spoke of Jacob Cats, so she put her armful of books upon the table and resigned herself to listen.)

  “Old Father Cats, my child, was a great poet, not a writer
of plays like the Englishman Shakespeare, who lived in his time. I have read them in the German, and very good they are – very, very good – but not like Father Cats. Cats sees no daggers in the air, he has no white women falling in love with dusky Moors, no young fools sighing to be a lady’s glove, no crazy princes mistaking respectable old gentlemen for rats. No, no. He writes only sense. It is great wisdom in little bundles – a bundle for every day of your life. You can guide a state with Cats’s poems, and you can put a little baby to sleep with his pretty songs. He was one of the greatest men of Holland. When I take you to The Hague, I will show you the Kloosterkerk where he lies buried. There was a man for you to study, my sons! He was good through and through. What did he say?

  “‘O Lord, let me obtain this from Thee:

  To live with patience, and to die with pleasure!’

  “Did patience mean folding his hands? No, he was a lawyer, statesman, ambassador, farmer, philosopher, historian and poet. He was keeper of the Great Seal of Holland! He was a – bah! there is too much noise here, I cannot talk.” And Mynheer, looking with astonishment into the bowl of his meerschaum – for it had “gone out” – nodded to his vrouw and left the apartment in great haste.

  The fact is, his discourse had been accompanied throughout with a subdued chorus of barking dogs, squeaking cats and bleating lambs, to say nothing of a noisy ivory cricket that the baby was whirling with infinite delight. At the last, little Huygens, taking advantage of the increasing loudness of Mynheer’s tones, had ventured a blast on his new trumpet, and Wolfert had hastily attempted an accompaniment on the drum. This had brought matters to a crisis, and well for the little creatures that it had. The saint had left no ticket for them to attend a lecture on Jacob Cats. It was not an appointed part of the ceremonies. Therefore, when the youngsters saw that the mother looked neither frightened nor offended, they gathered new courage. The grand chorus rose triumphant, and frolic and joy reigned supreme.