The Silver Skates

by Mary Mapes Dodge

  “Nonsense, Jacob, you did it all for the best.”

  Ben said this in such a sprightly tone that the two van Holps and Carl felt sure he had proposed a plan that would relieve the party at once.

  “What? What? Tell us, van Mounen,” they cried.

  “He says it is not Jacob’s fault that the money is lost – that he did it for the best when he proposed that van Holp should put all of our money into his purse.”

  “Is that all?” said Ludwig dismally. “He need not have made such a fuss in just saying that. How much money have we lost?”

  “Don’t you remember?” said Peter. “We each put in exactly ten guilders. The purse had sixty guilders in it. I am the stupidest fellow in the world. Little Schimmelpenninck would have made you a better captain. I could pummel myself for bringing such a disappointment upon you.”

  “Do it then,” growled Carl. “Pooh,” he added, “we all know it was an accident, but that doesn’t help matters. We must have money, van Holp, even if you have to sell your wonderful watch.”

  “Sell my mother’s birthday present! Never! I will sell my coat, my hat – anything but my watch.”

  “Come, come,” said Jacob pleasantly, “we are making too much of this affair. We can go home and start again in a day or two.”

  “You may be able to get another ten-guilder piece,” said Carl, “but the rest of us will not find it so easy. If we go home, we stay home, you may depend.”

  Our captain, whose good nature had not yet forsaken him for a moment, grew indignant.

  “Do you think I will let you suffer for my carelessness?” he exclaimed. “I have three times sixty guilders in my strongbox at home!”

  “Oh, I beg your pardon,” said Carl hastily, adding in a surlier tone: “Well, I see no better way than to go back hungry.”

  “I see a better plan than that,” said the captain.

  “What is it?” cried all the boys.

  “Why, to make the best of a bad business and go back pleasantly, and like men,” said Peter, looking so gallant and handsome as he turned his frank face and clear blue eyes upon them that they caught his spirit.

  “Ho! for the captain,” they shouted.

  “Now, boys, we may as well make up our minds there’s no place like Broek, after all, and that we mean to be there in two hours. Is that agreed to?”

  “Agreed!” cried all, as they ran to the canal.

  “On with your skates! Are you ready? Here, Jacob, let me help you.”

  “Now. One, two, three – start!”

  And the boyish faces that left Haarlem at that signal were nearly as bright as those that had entered it with Captain Peter half an hour before.

  Chapter 14

  Hans

  “Donder and Bliksem!”* cried Carl angrily, before the party had skated twenty yards from the city gates, “if here isn’t that wooden-skate ragamuffin in the patched leather breeches. That fellow is everywhere, confound him! We’ll be lucky,” he added, in as sneering a tone as he dared to assume, “if our captain doesn’t order us to halt and shake hands with him.”

  “Your captain is a terrible fellow,” said Peter pleasantly, “but this is a false alarm, Carl – I cannot spy your bugbear anywhere among the skaters. Ah! There he is! Why, what is the matter with the lad?”

  Poor Hans! His face was pale, his lips compressed. He skated like one under the effects of a fearful dream. Just as he was passing, Peter hailed him: “Good day, Hans Brinker!”

  Hans’s countenance brightened at once. “Ah, Mynheer, is that you? It is well we meet!”

  “Just like his impertinence,” hissed Carl Schummel, darting scornfully past his companions, who seemed inclined to linger with their captain.

  “I am glad to see you, Hans,” responded Peter cheerily, “but you looked troubled. Can I serve you?”

  “I have a trouble, Mynheer,” answered Hans, casting down his eyes. Then lifting them again with almost a happy expression he added: “But it is Hans who can help Mynheer van Holp this time.”

  “How?” asked Peter, making, in his blunt Dutch way, no attempt to conceal his surprise.

  “By giving you this, Mynheer,” and Hans held forth the missing purse.

  “Hurrah!” shouted the boys, taking their cold hands from their pockets to wave them joyfully in the air. But Peter said “Thank you, Hans Brinker” in a tone that made Hans feel as if the king had knelt to him.

  The shout of the delighted boys reached the muffled ears of the fine young gentleman who, under a full pressure of pent-up wrath, was skating towards Amsterdam. Any but a Dutch boy would have wheeled about at once and hastened to satisfy his curiosity. But Carl only halted, and with his back towards his party wondered what on earth had happened. There he stood, immovable, until, feeling sure that nothing but the prospect of something to eat could have made them hurrah so heartily, he turned and skated slowly towards his excited comrades.

  Meantime, Peter had drawn Hans aside from the rest.

  “How did you know it was my purse?” he asked.

  “You paid me three guilders yesterday, Mynheer, for making the whitewood chain, telling me that I must buy skates.”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “I saw your purse then. It was of yellow leather.”

  “And where did you find it today?”

  “I left my home this morning, Mynheer, in great trouble, and as I skated I took no heed until I stumbled against some lumber, and while I was rubbing my knee I saw your purse nearly hidden under a log.”

  “That place! Ah, I remember now. Just as we were passing it I pulled my tippet from my pocket, and probably flirted out the purse at the same time. It would have been gone but for you, Hans. Here” – pouring out the contents – “you must give us the pleasure of dividing the money with you…”

  “No, Mynheer,” answered Hans. He spoke quietly, without pretence or any grace of manner, but Peter somehow felt rebuked and put the silver back without a word.

  “I like that boy – rich or poor,” he thought to himself, then added aloud: “May I ask about this trouble of yours, Hans?”

  “Ah, Mynheer, it is a sad case, but I have waited here too long. I am going to Leiden to see the great Dr Boekman—”

  “Dr Boekman!” exclaimed Peter in astonishment.

  “Yes, Mynheer, and I have not a moment to lose. Good day!”

  “Stay – I am going that way. Come, my lads! Shall we return to Haarlem?”

  “Yes,” cried the boys eagerly, and off they started.

  “Now,” said Peter, drawing near Hans, both skimming the ice so easily and lightly as they skated on together that they seemed scarce conscious of moving, “we are going to stop at Leiden, and if you are going there only with a message to Dr Boekman, cannot I do the errand for you? The boys may be too tired to skate so far today, but I will promise to see him early tomorrow if he is to be found in the city.”

  “Ah, Mynheer, that would be serving me indeed. It is not the distance I dread, but leaving my mother so long.”

  “Is she ill?”

  “No, Mynheer. It is Father. You may have heard it: how he has been without wit for many a year – ever since the great Schlossen Mill was built – but his body has been well and strong. Last night Mother knelt upon the hearth to blow the peat (it is his only delight to sit and watch the live embers, and she will blow them into a blaze every hour of the day to please him). Before she could stir, he sprang upon her like a giant, and held her close to the fire, all the time laughing and shaking his head. I was on the canal, but I heard Mother scream and ran to her. Father had never loosened his hold, and her gown was smoking. I tried to deaden the fire, but with one hand he pushed me off. There was no water in the cottage or I could have done better, and all that time he laughed – such a terrible laugh, Mynheer – hardly a sound, but all in his face. I tried to
pull her away, but that only made it worse. Then – it was dreadful, but could I see Mother burn? I beat him – beat him with a stool. He tossed me away. The gown was on fire! I would put it out. I can’t remember well after that. I found myself upon the floor, and Mother was praying. It seemed to me that she was in a blaze, and all the while I could hear that laugh. My sister Gretel screamed out that he was holding Mother close to the very coals. I could not tell! Gretel flew to the closet and filled a porringer with the food he liked, and put it upon the floor. Then, Mynheer, he left Mother and crawled to it like a little child. She was not burnt – only a part of her clothing. Ah, how kind she was to him all night, watching and tending him. He slept in a high fever, with his hands pressed to his head. Mother says he has done that so much of late, as though he felt pain there. Ah, Mynheer, I did not mean to tell you. If Father was himself, he would not harm even a kitten.”

  For a moment the two boys moved on in silence.

  “It is terrible,” said Peter at last. “How is he today?”

  “Very sick, Mynheer…”

  “Why go for Dr Boekman, Hans? There are others in Amsterdam who could help him, perhaps. Boekman is a famous man, sought only by the wealthiest, and they often wait upon him in vain.”

  “He promised, Mynheer. He promised me yesterday to come to Father in a week, but now that the change has come we cannot wait: we think poor Father is dying. Oh! Mynheer, you can plead with him to come quick – he will not wait a whole week and our father dying – the good meester is so kind…”

  “So kind!” echoed Peter in astonishment. “Why, he is known as the crossest man in Holland!”

  “He looks so because he has no fat, and his head is busy, but his heart is kind, I know. Tell the meester what I have told you, Mynheer, and he will come.”

  “I hope so, Hans, with all my heart. You are in haste to turn homewards, I see. Promise me that should you need a friend you will go to my mother at Broek. Tell her I bade you see her, and, Hans Brinker – not as a reward, but as a gift – take a few of these guilders.”

  Hans shook his head resolutely.

  “No, no, Mynheer – I cannot take it. If I could find work in Broek or at the South Mill I would be glad, but it is the same story everywhere: ‘wait till spring’.”

  “It is well you speak of it,” said Peter eagerly, “for my father needs help at once. Your pretty chain pleased him much. He said: ‘That boy has a clean cut. He would be good at carving.’ There is to be a carved portal to our new summer house, and Father will pay well for the job.”

  “God is good!” cried Hans in sudden delight. “Oh! Mynheer, that would be too much joy. I have never tried big work, but I can do it, I know I can.”

  “Well, tell my father you are the Hans Brinker of whom I spoke. He will be glad to serve you.”

  Hans stared in honest surprise.

  “Thank you, Mynheer.”

  “Now, Captain,” shouted Carl, anxious to appear as good-humoured as possible, by way of atonement, “here we are in the midst of Haarlem, and no word from you yet. We await your orders, and we’re as hungry as wolves.”

  Peter made a cheerful answer, and turned hurriedly to Hans.

  “Come, get something to eat, and I will detain you no longer.”

  What a quick, wistful look Hans threw upon him! Peter wondered that he had not noticed before that the poor boy was hungry.

  “Ah, Mynheer, even now Mother may need me. Father may be worse – I must not wait. May God care for you,” and, nodding hastily, Hans turned his face homewards and was gone.

  “Come, boys,” sighed Peter, “now for our tiffin!”

  Chapter 15

  Homes

  It must not be supposed that our young Dutchmen had already forgotten the great skating race which was to take place on the 20th. On the contrary, they had thought and spoken of it very often during the day. Even Ben, though he had felt more like a traveller than the rest, had never once, through all the sightseeing, lost a certain vision of silver skates, which for a week past had haunted him night and day.

  Like a true “John Bull”, as Jacob had called him, he never doubted that his English fleetness, English strength, English everything, could at any time enable him, on the ice, to put all Holland to shame, and the rest of the world, too, for that matter. Ben certainly was a superb skater. He had enjoyed not half the opportunities for practising that had fallen to his new comrades, but he had improved his share to the utmost, and was, besides, so strong of frame, so supple of limb – in short, such a tight, trim, quick, graceful fellow in every way – that he had taken to skating as naturally as a chamois to leaping, or an eagle to soaring.

  Only to the heavy heart of poor Hans had the vision of the silver skates failed to appear during that starry winter night and the brighter sunlit day.

  Even Gretel had seen them flitting before her as she sat beside her mother 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 other thought than “The race! The race! It will come off on the 20th!”

  These three girls were friends. Though of nearly the same age, talent and station, they were as different as girls could be.

  Hilda van Gleck you already know – a warm-hearted, noble girl of fourteen. Rychie Korbes was beautiful to look upon, far more sparkling and pretty than Hilda, but not half so bright and sunny within. Clouds of pride, of discontent and envy had already gathered in her heart, and were growing bigger and darker every day. Of course, these often relieved themselves very much after the manner of other clouds, but who saw the storms and the weeping? Only her maid, or her father, mother and little brother – those who loved her better than all. Like other clouds, too, hers often took queer shapes, and what was really but mist and vapoury fancy assumed the appearance of monster wrongs and mountains of difficulty. To her mind, the poor peasant girl Gretel was not a human being, a God-created creature like herself – she was only something that meant poverty, rags and dirt. Such as Gretel had no right to feel, to hope. Above all, they should never cross the paths of their betters – that is, not in a disagreeable way. They could toil and labour for them at a respectful distance, even admire them, if they would do it humbly, 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 witty she was, how tastefully she dressed, how charmingly she sang, how much feeling she displayed (for pet kittens and rabbits) and how completely she could bewitch sensible, honest-minded lads like Lambert van Mounen and Ludwig van Holp!

  Carl was too much like her within to be an earnest admirer, and perhaps he suspected the clouds. He, being deep and surly, and always uncomfortably in earnest, of course preferred the lively Katrinka, whose nature was made of a hundred tinkling bells. She was a coquette in her infancy, a coquette in her childhood and now a coquette in her schooldays. Without a thought of harm, she coquetted with her studies, her duties, even her little troubles. They shouldn’t know when they bothered her, not they. She coquetted with her mother, her pet lamb, her baby brother, even with her own golden curls – tossing them back as if she despised them. Everyone liked her, but who could love her? She was never in earnest. A pleasant face, a pleasant heart, a pleasant manner – these only satisfy for an hour. Poor happy Katrinka! Such as she tinkle, tinkle, so merrily through their early days, but life is so apt to coquette with them in turn, to put all their sweet bells out of tune or to silence them one by one!

  How different were the homes of these three girls from the tumbling old cottage where Gretel dwelt. Rychie lived in a beautiful house near Amsterdam, where the carved sideboards were laden with services of silver and gold, and where silken tapestries hung in folds from ceiling to floor.

  Hilda’s father owned the largest mansion in Broek. Its glittering roof of pol
ished tiles and its boarded front, painted in half a dozen various colours, were the admiration of the neighbourhood.

  Katrinka’s home, not a mile distant, was the finest of Dutch country seats. The garden was so stiffly laid out in little paths and patches that the birds might have mistaken it for a great Chinese puzzle with all the pieces spread out ready for use. But in summer it was beautiful: the flowers made the best of their stiff quarters and, when the gardener was not watching, glowed and bent and twined about each other in the prettiest way imaginable. Such a tulip bed! Why, the queen of the fairies would never care for a grander city in which to hold her court! But Katrinka preferred the bed of pink and white hyacinths. She loved their freshness and fragrance, and the light-hearted way in which their bell-shaped blossoms swung in the breeze.

  Carl was both right and wrong when he said that Katrinka and Rychie were furious at the very idea of the peasant Gretel joining in the race. He had heard Rychie declare it was “disgraceful, shameful, too bad!”, which in Dutch, as in English, is generally the strongest expression an indignant girl can use, and he had seen Katrinka nod her pretty head, and heard her sweetly echo “Shameful, too bad!” as nearly like Rychie as tinkling bells can be like the voice of real anger. This had satisfied him. He never suspected that had Hilda, not Rychie, first talked with Katrinka upon the subject, the bells would have jingled as willing an echo. She would have said “Certainly, let her join us”, and would have skipped off thinking no more about it. But now Katrinka, with sweet emphasis, pronounced it a shame that a goose girl, a forlorn little creature like Gretel, should be allowed to spoil the race.

  Rychie being rich and powerful (in a schoolgirl way) had other followers, besides Katrinka, who were induced to share her opinions because they were either too careless or too cowardly to think for themselves.

  Poor little Gretel! Her home was sad and dark enough now. Raff Brinker lay moaning upon his rough bed, and his vrouw, forgetting and forgiving everything, bathed his forehead, his lips, weeping and praying that he might not die. Hans, as we know, had started in desperation for Leiden, to search for Dr Boekman and induce him, if possible, to come to their father at once. Gretel, filled with a strange dread, had done the work as well as she could, wiped the rough brick floor, brought peat to build up the slow fire and melted ice for her mother’s use. This accomplished, she seated herself upon a low stool near the bed, and begged her mother to try and sleep awhile.