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 Ithank you warmly. Go to your post, my friend, the bugle will be sounding in another 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 dares 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 center 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, snakelike 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 a double semicircle before Madam van Gleck's pavilion.
Peter and Gretel stand in the center 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 curtsy, 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 bouquets in her apron, hugs them to her bosom, and darts off to search for her father and mother in the scattering crowd.
Joy in the CottagePerhaps 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 twentieth 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.
