XV
HOMES
It must not be supposed that our young Dutchmen had already forgottenthe great skating-race which was to take place on the Twentieth. On thecontrary, they had thought and spoken of it very often during the day.Even Ben, though he had felt more like a traveler than the rest, hadnever once, through all the sightseeing, lost a certain vision of silverskates which, for a week past, had haunted him night and day.
Like a true "John Bull," as Jacob had called him, he never doubted thathis English fleetness, English strength, English everything, could atany time enable him, on the ice, to put all Holland to shame, and therest of the world, too, for that matter. Ben certainly was a superbskater. He had enjoyed not half the opportunities for practicing thathad fallen to his new comrades; but he had improved his share to theutmost; and was, besides, so strong of frame, so supple of limb--inshort such a tight, trim, quick, graceful fellow in every way, that hehad taken to skating as naturally as a chamois to leaping, or an eagleto soaring.
Only to the heavy heart of poor Hans had the vision of the Silver Skatesfailed to appear during that starry winter night and the brighter sunlitday.
Even Gretel had seen them flitting before her as she sat beside hermother through those hours of weary watching--not as prizes to be won,but as treasures passing hopelessly beyond her reach.
Rychie, Hilda and Katrinka--why they had scarcely known any otherthought than "the race! the race! It will come off on the Twentieth!"
These three girls were friends. Though of nearly the same age, talentand station, they were as different as girls could be.
Hilda van Gleck you already know, a warm-hearted, noble girl offourteen. Rychie Korbes was beautiful to look upon, far more sparklingand pretty than Hilda, but not half so bright and sunny within. Cloudsof pride, of discontent and envy had already gathered in her heart, andwere growing bigger and darker every day. Of course these often relievedthemselves very much after the manner of other clouds--But who saw thestorms and the weeping? Only her maid, or her father, mother and littlebrother--those who loved her better than all. Like other clouds, too,hers often took queer shapes, and what was really but mist and vaporyfancy, assumed the appearance of monster wrongs, and mountains ofdifficulty. To her mind, the poor peasant-girl Gretel was not a humanbeing, a God-created creature like herself--she was only something thatmeant poverty, rags and dirt. Such as Gretel had no right to feel, tohope; above all, they should never cross the paths of theirbetters--that is, not in a disagreeable way. They could toil and laborfor them at a respectful distance, even admire them, if they would do ithumbly, but nothing more. If they rebel, put them down--If they suffer,don't trouble me about it, was Rychie's secret motto. And yet how wittyshe was, how tastefully she dressed, how charmingly she sang; how muchfeeling she displayed (for pet kittens and rabbits), and how completelyshe could bewitch sensible, honest-minded lads like Lambert van Mounenand Ludwig van Holp!
Carl was too much like her, within, to be an earnest admirer, andperhaps he suspected the clouds. He, being deep and surly, and alwaysuncomfortably in earnest, of course preferred the lively Katrinka, whosenature was made of a hundred tinkling bells. She was a coquette in herinfancy, a coquette in her childhood, and now a coquette in herschool-days. Without a thought of harm, she coquetted with her studies,her duties, even her little troubles. They shouldn't know when theybothered her, not they. She coquetted with her mother, her pet lamb, herbaby brother, even with her own golden curls--tossing them back as ifshe despised them. Every one liked her, but who could love her? She wasnever in earnest. A pleasant face, a pleasant heart, a pleasantmanner--these only satisfy for an hour. Poor, happy Katrinka! such asshe, tinkle, tinkle so merrily through their early days; but Life is soapt to coquette with them in turn, to put all their sweet bells out oftune, or to silence them one by one!
How different were the homes of these three girls from the tumbling oldcottage where Gretel dwelt. Rychie lived in a beautiful house nearAmsterdam, where the carved sideboards were laden with services ofsilver and gold, and where silken tapestries hung in folds from ceilingto floor.
Hilda's father owned the largest mansion in Broek. Its glittering roofof polished tiles, and its boarded front, painted in half a dozenvarious colors, were the admiration of the neighborhood.
Katrinka's home, not a mile distant, was the finest of Dutchcountry-seats. The garden was so stiffly laid out in little paths andpatches that the birds might have mistaken it for a great Chinese puzzlewith all the pieces spread out ready for use. But in summer it wasbeautiful; the flowers made the best of their stiff quarters, and, whenthe gardener was not watching, glowed and bent and twined about eachother in the prettiest way imaginable. Such a tulip bed! Why, the Queenof the Fairies would never care for a grander city in which to hold hercourt! but Katrinka preferred the bed of pink and white hyacinths. Sheloved their freshness and fragrance, and the light-hearted way in whichtheir bell-shaped blossoms swung in the breeze.
Carl was both right and wrong when he said that Katrinka and Rychie werefurious at the very idea of the peasant Gretel joining in the race. Hehad heard Rychie declare it was "disgraceful, shameful, TOO BAD!" whichin Dutch, as in English, is generally the strongest expression anindignant girl can use; and he had seen Katrinka nod her pretty head,and heard her sweetly echo "shameful, too bad!" as nearly like Rychie astinkling bells can be like the voice of real anger. That had satisfiedhim. He never suspected that had Hilda, not Rychie, first talked withKatrinka upon the subject, the bells would have jingled as willing anecho. She would have said, "Certainly, let her join us," and would haveskipped off thinking no more about it. But now Katrinka with sweetemphasis pronounced it a shame that a goose-girl, a forlorn littlecreature like Gretel should be allowed to spoil the race.
Rychie being rich and powerful (in a schoolgirl way) had otherfollowers, besides Katrinka, who were induced to share her opinionsbecause they were either too careless or too cowardly to think forthemselves.
Poor little Gretel! Her home was sad and dark enough now. Raff Brinkerlay moaning upon his rough bed, and his vrouw, forgetting and forgivingeverything, bathed his forehead, his lips, weeping and praying that hemight not die. Hans, as we know, had started in desperation for Leydento search for Dr. Boekman, and induce him, if possible, to come to theirfather at once. Gretel, filled with a strange dread, had done the workas well as she could, wiped the rough brick floor, brought peat to buildup the slow fire, and melted ice for her mother's use. Thisaccomplished, she seated herself upon a low stool near the bed, andbegged her mother to try and sleep a while.
"You are so tired," she whispered, "not once have you closed your eyessince that dreadful hour last night. See, I have straightened the willowbed in the corner, and spread everything soft upon it I could find, sothat the mother might lie in comfort. Here is your jacket. Take off thatpretty dress, I'll fold it away very careful, and put it in the bigchest before you go to sleep."
Dame Brinker shook her head without turning her eyes from her husband'sface.
"I can watch, mother," urged Gretel, "and I'll wake you every time thefather stirs. You are so pale, and your eyes are so red--oh, mother,_do_!"
The child pleaded in vain. Dame Brinker would not leave her post.
Gretel looked at her in troubled silence, wondering whether it were verywicked to care more for one parent than for the other--and sure, yes,quite sure, that she dreaded her father, while she clung to her motherwith a love that was almost idolatry.
"Hans loves the father so well," she thought, "why cannot I? Yet I couldnot help crying when I saw his hand bleed that day, last month, when hesnatched the knife--and now, when he moans, how I ache, ache all over.Perhaps I love him, after all, and God will see I am not such a bad,wicked girl as I thought. Yes, I love the poor father--almost as Hansdoes--not quite, for Hans is stronger and does not fear him. Oh, willthat moaning go on forever and ever! Poor mother, how patient she is;_she_ never pouts, as I do, about the money that went away so strange.If he
only could, just for one instant, open his eyes and look at us, asHans does, and tell us where mother's guilders went, I would not carefor the rest--yes, I would care--I don't want the poor father to die, tobe all blue and cold like Annie Bouman's little sister--I _know_ Idon't--dear God, I don't want father to die."
Her thoughts merged into a prayer. When it ended, the poor childscarcely knew. Soon she found herself watching a little pulse of lightat the side of the fire, beating faintly but steadily, showing thatsomewhere in the dark pile there was warmth and light that wouldoverspread it at last. A large earthen cup filled with burning peatstood near the bedside; Gretel had placed it there to "stop the father'sshivering" she said. She watched it as it sent a glow around themother's form, tipping her faded skirt with light, and shedding a sortof newness over the threadbare bodice. It was a relief to Gretel to seethe lines in that weary face soften as the firelight flickered gentlyacross it.
Next she counted the window-panes, broken and patched as they were; andfinally, after tracing every crack and seam in the walls, fixed her gazeupon a carved shelf made by Hans. The shelf hung as high as Gretelcould reach. It held a large leather-covered Bible, with brass clasps, awedding present to Dame Brinker from the family at Heidelberg.
"Ah, how handy Hans is! If he were here he could turn the father someway so the moans would stop--dear! dear! if this sickness lasts, weshall never skate any more. I must send my new skates back to thebeautiful lady. Hans and I will not see the race," and Gretel's eyes,that had been dry before, grew full of tears.
"Never cry, child," said her mother soothingly. "This sickness may notbe as bad as we think. The father has lain this way before."
Gretel sobbed now.
"Oh, mother, it is not that alone--you do not know all--I am very, verybad and wicked!"
"_You_, Gretel! you so patient and good!" and a bright, puzzled lookbeamed for an instant upon the child. "Hush, lovey, you'll wake him."
Gretel hid her face in her mother's lap, and tried not to cry.
Her little hand, so thin and brown, lay in the coarse palm of hermother, creased with many a hard day's work. Rychie would have shudderedto touch either, yet they pressed warmly upon each other. Soon Gretellooked up with that dull, homely look which, they say, poor children inshanties are apt to have, and said in a trembling voice:
"The father tried to burn you--he did--I saw him, and he was_laughing_!"
"Hush, child!"
The mother's words came so suddenly and sharply, that Raff Brinker,dead as he was to all that was passing round him, twitched slightly uponthe bed.
Gretel said no more, but plucked drearily at the jagged edge of a holein her mother's holiday gown. It had been burned there--well for DameBrinker that the gown was woolen.
Hans Brinker; Or, The Silver Skates Page 18