Hans Brinker; Or, The Silver Skates

by Mary Mapes Dodge

  XXIX

  A DAY OF REST

  The sightseeing came to an end at last, and so did our boys' visit tothe Hague. They had spent three happy days and nights with the VanGends, and, strange to say, had not once, in all that time, put onskates. The third day had indeed been one of rest. The noise and bustleof the city was hushed; sweet Sunday bells sent blessed, tranquilthoughts into their hearts. Ben felt, as he listened to their familiarmusic, that the Christian world is one, after all, however divided bysects and differences it may be. As the clock speaks every one's nativelanguage in whatever land it may strike the hour, so church-bells arenever foreign if our hearts but listen.

  Led on by those clear voices, our party, with Mevrouw van Gend and herhusband, trod the quiet but crowded streets, until they came to a fineold church in the southern part of the city.

  The interior was large and, notwithstanding its great stained windows,seemed dimly lighted, though the walls were white, and dashes of red andpurple sunshine lay brightly upon pillar and pew.

  Ben saw a few old women moving softly through the aisles, each bearing ahigh pile of foot-stoves which she distributed among the congregation byskillfully slipping out the under one, until none were left. It puzzledhim that mynheer should settle himself with the boys in a comfortableside-pew, after seating his vrouw in the body of the church, which wasfilled with chairs exclusively appropriated to the women. But Ben waslearning only a common custom of the country.

  The pews of the nobility and the dignitaries of the city were circularin form, each surrounding a column. Elaborately carved, they formed amassive base to their great pillars standing out in bold relief againstthe blank, white walls beyond. These columns, lofty andwell-proportioned, were nicked and defaced from violence done to themlong ago; yet it seemed quite fitting that, before they were lost in thedeep arches overhead, their softened outlines should leaf out as theydid into richness and beauty.

  Soon, Ben lowered his gaze to the marble floor. It was a pavement ofgravestones. Nearly all the large slabs, of which it was composed,marked the resting-places of the dead. An armorial design engraved uponeach stone, with inscription and date, told whose form was sleepingbeneath, and sometimes three of a family were lying one above the otherin the same sepulchre.

  He could not but think of the solemn funeral procession winding bytorch-light through those lofty aisles, and bearing its silent burdentoward a dark opening whence a slab had been lifted, in readiness forits coming. It was something to feel that his sister Mabel, who died inher flower, was lying in a sunny church-yard, where a brook rippled andsparkled in the daylight, and waving trees whispered together all nightlong; where flowers might nestle close to the headstone and moon andstars shed their peace upon it, and morning birds sing sweetly overhead.

  Then he looked up from the pavement and rested his eyes upon the carved,oaken pulpit, exquisitely beautiful in design and workmanship. He couldnot see the minister--though, not long before, he had watched him slowlyascending its winding stair--a mild-faced man wearing a ruff about hisneck, and a short cloak reaching nearly to the knee.

  Meantime the great church had been silently filling. Its pews weresombre with men and its centre radiant with women in their fresh Sundayattire. Suddenly a soft rustling spread through the building. All eyeswere turned toward the minister now appearing above the pulpit.

  Although the sermon was spoken slowly, Ben could understand little ofwhat was said; but when the hymn came, he joined in with all his heart.A thousand voices lifted in love and praise, offered a grander languagethat he could readily comprehend.

  Once he was startled, during a pause in the service, by seeing a littlebag suddenly shaken before him. It had a tinkling bell at its side, andwas attached to a long stick carried by one of the deacons of thechurch. Not relying solely upon the mute appeal of the poor-boxesfastened to the columns near the entrance, this more direct method wasresorted to, of awaking the sympathies of the charitable.

  Fortunately Ben had provided himself with a few stivers, or the musicalbag must have tinkled before him in vain.

  More than once, a dark look rose on our English boy's face that morning.He longed to stand up and harangue the people concerning a peculiaritythat filled him with pain. Some of the men wore their hats during theservice, or took them off whenever the humor prompted, and many puttheirs on in the church as soon as they arose to leave. No wonder Ben'ssense of propriety was wounded; and yet a higher sense would have beenexercised had he tried to feel willing that Hollanders should follow thecustoms of their country. But his English heart said over and over again"it is outrageous! it is sinful!"

  There is an Angel called Charity who often would save our hearts a greatdeal of trouble if we would but let her in.