Hans listened attentively, growing red and pale by turns and throwing quick, anxious glances toward the bed.
"It may KILL the father--did you say, mynheer?" he exclaimed at last in a trembling whisper.
"It may, my boy. But I have a strong belief that it will cure and not kill. Ah! If boys were not such dunces, I could lay the whole matter before you, but it would be of no use."Hans looked blank at this compliment.
"It would be of no use," repeated Dr. Boekman indignantly. "Agreat operation is proposed, but one might as well do it with a hatchet. The only question asked is, 'Will it kill?'""The question is EVERYTHING to us, mynheer," said Hans with tearful dignity.
Dr. Boekman looked at him in sudden dismay.
"Ah! Exactly so. You are right, boy, I am a fool. Good boy.
One does not wish one's father killed--of course I am a fool.""Will he die, mynheer, if this sickness goes on?""Humph! This is no new illness. The same thing growing worse ever instant--pressure on the brain--will take him off soon like THAT," said the doctor, snapping his fingers.
"And the operation MAY save him," pursued Hans. "How soon, mynheer, can we know?"Dr. Boekman grew impatient.
"In a day, perhaps, an hour. Talk with your mother, boy, and let her decide. My time is short."Hans approached his mother; at first, when she looked up at him, he could not utter a syllable; then, turning his eyes away, he said in a firm voice, "I must speak with the mother alone."Quick little Gretel, who could not quite understand what was passing, threw rather an indignant look at Hans and walked away.
"Come back, Gretel, and sit down," said Hans, sorrowfully.
She obeyed.
Dame Brinker and her boy stood by the window while the doctor and his assistant, bending over the bedside, conversed together in a low tone. There was no danger of disturbing the patient. He appeared like one blind and deaf. Only his faint, piteous moans showed him to be a living man. Hans was talking earnestly, and in a low voice, for he did not wish his sister to hear.
With dry, parted lips, Dame Brinker leaned toward him, searching his face, as if suspecting a meaning beyond his words. Once she gave a quick, frightened sob that made Gretel start, but, after that, she listened calmly.
When Hans ceased to speak, his mother turned, gave one long, agonized look at her husband, lying there so pale and unconscious, and threw herself on her knees beside the bed.
Poor little Gretel! What did all this mean? She looked with questioning eyes at Hans; he was standing, but his head was bent as if in prayer--at the doctor. He was gently feeling her father's head and looked like one examining some curious stone--at the assistant. The man coughed and turned away--at her mother. Ah, little Gretel, that was the best you could do--to kneel beside her and twine your warm, young arms about her neck, to weep and implore God to listen.
When the mother arose, Dr. Boekman, with a show of trouble in his eyes, asked gruffly, "Well, jufvrouw, shall it be done?""Will it pain him, mynheer?" she asked in a trembling voice.
"I cannot say. Probably not. Shall it be done?""It MAY cure him, you said, and--mynheer, did you tell my boy that--perhaps--perhaps. . ." She could not finish.
"Yes, jufvrouw, I said the patient might sink under the operation, but we hope it may prove otherwise." He looked at his watch. The assistant moved impatiently toward the window.
"Come, jufvrouw, time presses. Yes or no?"Hans wound his arm about his mother. It was not his usual way.
He even leaned his head against her shoulder.
"The meester awaits an answer," he whispered.
Dame Brinker had long been head of her house in every sense.
Many a time she had been very stern with Hans, ruling him with a strong hand and rejoicing in her motherly discipline. NOW she felt so weak, so helpless. It was something to feel that firm embrace. There was strength even in the touch of that yellow hair.
She turned to her boy imploringly.
"Oh, Hans! What shall I say?"
"Say what God tells thee, Mother," answered Hans, bowing his head.
One quick, questioning prayer to Heaven rose from the mother's heart.
The answer came.
She turned toward Dr. Boekman.
"It is right, mynheer. I consent."
"Humph!" grunted the doctor, as if to say, "You've been long enough about it." Then he conferred a moment with his assistant, who listened with great outward deference but was inwardly rejoicing at the grand joke he would have to tell his fellow students. He had actually seen a tear in "old Boekman's" eye.
Meanwhile Gretel looked on in trembling silence, but when she saw the doctor open a leather case and take out one sharp, gleaming instrument after another, she sprang forward.
"Oh, Mother! The poor father meant no wrong. Are they going to MURDER him?""I do not know, child," screamed Dame Brinker, looking fiercely at Gretel. "I do not know.""This will not do, jufvrouw," said Dr. Boekman sternly, and at the same time he cast a quick, penetrating look at Hans. "You and the girl must leave the room. The boy may stay."Dame Brinker drew herself up in an instant. Her eyes flashed.
Her whole countenance was changed. She looked like one who had never wept, never felt a moment's weakness. Her voice was low but decided. "I stay with my husband, mynheer."Dr. Boekman looked astonished. His orders were seldom disregarded in this style. For an instant his eye met hers.
"You may remain, jufvrouw," he said in an altered voice.
Gretel had already disappeared.
In one corner of the cottage was a small closet where her rough, boxlike bed was fastened against the wall. None would think of the trembling little creature crouching there in the dark.
Dr. Boekman took off his heavy coat, filled an earthen basin with water, and placed it near the bed. Then turning to Hans he asked, "Can I depend upon you, boy?""You can, mynheer.""I believe you. Stand at the head, here--your mother may sit at your right--so." And he placed a chair near the cot.
"Remember, jufvrouw, there must be no cries, no fainting."Dame Brinker answered him with a look.
