Hans Brinker; Or, The Silver Skates

by Mary Mapes Dodge

  I

  HANS AND GRETEL

  On a bright December morning long ago, two thinly clad children werekneeling upon the bank of a frozen canal in Holland.

  The sun had not yet appeared, but the gray sky was parted near thehorizon, and its edges shone crimson with the coming day. Most of thegood Hollanders were enjoying a placid morning nap; even Mynheer vonStoppelnoze, that worthy old Dutchman, was still slumbering "inbeautiful repose."

  Now and then some peasant woman, poising a well filled basket upon herhead, came skimming over the glassy surface of the canal; or a lustyboy, skating to his day's work in the town, cast a good-natured grimacetoward the shivering pair as he flew along.

  Meanwhile, with many a vigorous puff and pull, the brother and sister,for such they were, seemed to be fastening something upon theirfeet--not skates, certainly, but clumsy pieces of wood narrowed andsmoothed at their lower edge, and pierced with holes, through which werethreaded strings of rawhide.

  These queer looking affairs had been made by the boy Hans. His motherwas a poor peasant-woman, too poor to even think of such a thing asbuying skates for her little ones. Rough as these were, they hadafforded the children many a happy hour upon the ice; and now as withcold, red fingers our young Hollanders tugged at the strings--theirsolemn faces bending closely over their knees--no vision of impossibleiron runners came to dull the satisfaction glowing within.

  In a moment the boy arose, and with a pompous swing of the arms, and acareless "come on, Gretel," glided easily across the canal.

  "Ah, Hans," called his sister plaintively, "this foot is not well yet.The strings hurt me on last Market day; and now I cannot bear them tiedin the same place."

  "Tie them higher up, then," answered Hans, as without looking at her heperformed a wonderful cat's-cradle step on the ice.

  "How can I? The string is too short."

  Giving vent to a good-natured Dutch whistle, the English of which wasthat girls were troublesome creatures, he steered toward her.

  "You are foolish to wear such shoes, Gretel, when you have a stoutleather pair. Your klompen[1] would be better than these."

  [Footnote 1: Wooden Shoes.]

  "Why, Hans! Do you forget? The father threw my beautiful new shoes inthe fire. Before I knew what he had done they were all curled up in themidst of the burning peat. I can skate with these, but not with mywooden ones.--Be careful now----"

  Hans had taken a string from his pocket. Humming a tune as he kneltbeside her, he proceeded to fasten Gretel's skate with all the force ofhis strong young arm.

  "Oh! oh!" she cried, in real pain.

  With an impatient jerk Hans unwound the string. He would have cast itupon the ground in true big-brother style, had he not just then spied atear trickling down his sister's cheek.

  "I'll fix it--never fear," he said, with sudden tenderness, "but we mustbe quick; the mother will need us soon."

  Then he glanced inquiringly about him, first at the ground, next at somebare willow branches above his head, and finally at the sky now gorgeouswith streaks of blue, crimson and gold.

  Finding nothing in any of these localities to meet his need, his eyesuddenly brightened as, with the air of a fellow who knew what he wasabout, he took off his cap and removing the tattered lining, adjusted itin a smooth pad over the top of Gretel's worn-out shoe.

  "Now," he cried triumphantly, at the same time arranging the strings asbriskly as his benumbed fingers would allow, "can you bear somepulling?"

  Gretel drew up her lips as if to say "hurt away," but made no furtherresponse.

  In another moment they were laughing together, as hand in hand they flewalong the canal, never thinking whether the ice would bear or not, forin Holland, ice is generally an all-Winter affair. It settles itselfupon the water in a determined kind of way, and so far from growing thinand uncertain every time the sun is a little severe upon it, it gathersits forces day by day and flashes defiance to every beam.

  Presently, squeak! squeak! sounded something beneath Hans' feet. Nexthis strokes grew shorter, ending ofttimes with a jerk, and finally, helay sprawling upon the ice, kicking against the air with many afantastic flourish.

  "Ha! Ha!" laughed Gretel, "that was a fine tumble!" But a tender heartwas beating under her coarse blue jacket and, even as she laughed, shecame, with a graceful sweep, close to her prostrate brother.

  "Are you hurt, Hans? oh, you are laughing! catch me now"--and she dartedaway shivering no longer, but with cheeks all aglow, and eyes sparklingwith fun.

  Hans sprang to his feet and started in brisk pursuit, but it was no easything to catch Gretel. Before she had traveled very far, her skates,too, began to squeak.

  Believing that discretion was the better part of valor she turnedsuddenly and skated into her pursuer's arms.

  "Ha! ha! I've caught you!" cried Hans.

  "Ha! ha! I caught _you_," she retorted, struggling to free herself.

  Just then a clear, quick voice was heard calling "Hans! Gretel!"

  "It's the mother," said Hans, looking solemn in an instant.

  By this time the canal was gilded with sunlight. The pure morning airwas very delightful, and skaters were gradually increasing in numbers.It was hard to obey the summons. But Gretel and Hans were good children;without a thought of yielding to the temptation to linger, they pulledoff their skates, leaving half the knots still tied. Hans, with hisgreat square shoulders, and bushy yellow hair, towered high above hisblue-eyed little sister as they trudged homeward. He was fifteen yearsold and Gretel was only twelve. He was a solid, hearty-looking boy, withhonest eyes and a brow that seemed to bear a sign "goodness within" justas the little Dutch zomerhuis[2] wears a motto over its portal. Gretelwas lithe and quick; her eyes had a dancing light in them, and while youlooked at her cheek the color paled and deepened just as it does upon abed of pink and white blossoms when the wind is blowing.

  [Footnote 2: Summer-house.]

  As soon as the children turned from the canal they could see theirparents' cottage. Their mother's tall form, arrayed in jacket andpetticoat and close-fitting cap, stood, like a picture, in the crookedframe of the doorway. Had the cottage been a mile away, it would stillhave seemed near. In that flat country every object stands out plainlyin the distance; the chickens show as distinctly as the windmills.Indeed, were it not for the dykes and the high banks of the canals, onecould stand almost anywhere in middle Holland without seeing a mound ora ridge between the eye and the "jumping-off place."

  None had better cause to know the nature of these same dykes than DameBrinker and the panting youngsters now running at her call. But beforestating why, let me ask you to take a rocking-chair trip with me to thatfar country where you may see, perhaps for the first time, some curiousthings that Hans and Gretel saw every day.