Hans Brinker; Or, The Silver Skates

"Let me try," said Peter, leaning over his shoulder. "Why, man, it's perfectly distinct. It's T – H – it's T – "

"Well!" exclaimed Lambert, triumphantly, "if you can read it so easily, let's hear it, T – H, what?"

"T. H – T. H. Oh! why, Thomas Higgs, to be sure," replied Peter, pleased to be able to decipher it at last. Then, feeling they had been behaving rather unceremoniously, he turned toward Hans —

Peter turned pale! What was the matter with the people? Raff and Hans had started up, and were staring at him, in glad amazement. Gretel looked wild. Dame Brinker, with an unlighted candle in her hand, was rushing about the room, crying, "Hans! Hans! where's your hat? oh, the meester! Oh, the meester!"

"Birmingham! Higgs!" exclaimed Hans. "Did you say Higgs? we've found him! I must be off."

"You see, young masters," panted the dame, at the same time snatching Hans' hat from the bed, "you see – we know him – he's our – no, he isn't – I mean – oh, Hans, you must go to Amsterdam this minute!"

"Good-night, mynheers," panted Hans, radiant with sudden joy, "good-night – you will excuse me, I must go. Birmingham – Higgs – Higgs – Birmingham," and seizing his hat from his mother, and his skates from Gretel, he rushed from the cottage.

What could the boys think, but that the entire Brinker family had suddenly gone crazy!

They bade an embarrassed "good-evening," and turned to go. But Raff stopped them.

"This Thomas Higgs, young masters, is a – a person."

"Ah!" exclaimed Peter, quite sure that Raff was the most crazy of all.

"Yes – a person – a – ahem! – a friend. We thought him dead. I hope it is the same man. In England, did you say?"

"Yes, Birmingham," answered Peter; "it must be Birmingham in England."

"I know the man," said Ben, addressing Lambert. "His factory is not four miles from our place – a queer fellow – still as an oyster – don't seem at all like an Englishman. I've often seen him – a solemn-looking chap, with magnificent eyes. He made a beautiful writing-case once for me to give Jenny on her birthday – makes pocketbooks, telescope-cases, and all kinds of leather work."

As this was said in English, Van Mounen of course translated it for the benefit of all concerned, noticing meanwhile that neither Raff nor his vrouw looked very miserable though Raff was trembling, and the dame's eyes were swimming with tears.

You may believe the doctor heard every word of the story, when later in the evening he came driving back with Hans. "The three young gentlemen had been gone sometime," Dame Brinker said, "but like enough, by hurrying, it would be easy to find them coming out from the Lecture, wherever that was."

"True," said Raff, nodding his head, "the vrouw always hits upon the right thing. It would be well to see the young English gentleman, mynheer, before he forgets all about Thomas Higgs – it's a slippery name, d'ye see? – one can't hold it safe a minute. It come upon me sudden and strong as a pile-driver, and my boy writ it down. Aye, mynheer, I'd haste to talk with the English lad; he's seen your son many a time – only to think on't!"

Dame Brinker took up the thread of the discourse.

"You'll pick out the lad quick enough, mynheer, because he's in company with Master Peter van Holp; and his hair curls all up over his forehead like foreign folk's, and, if you hear him speak, he talks kind of big and fast, only it's English; but that wouldn't be any hindrance to your honor."

The doctor had already lifted his hat to go. With a beaming face, he muttered something about its being just like the young scamp to give himself a rascally English name; called Hans "my son" – thereby making that young gentleman happy as a lord – and left the cottage with very little ceremony, considering what a great meester he was.

The grumbling coachman comforted himself by speaking his mind, as he drove back to Amsterdam. Since the doctor was safely stowed away in the coach, and could not hear a word, it was a fine time to say terrible things of folks who hadn't no manner of feeling for nobody, and who were always wanting the horses a dozen times of a night.

XLVI

MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF THOMAS HIGGS

Higgs' factory was a mine of delight for the gossips of Birmingham. It was a small building, but quite large enough to hold a mystery. Who the proprietor was, or where he came from, none could tell. He looked like a gentleman – that was certain – though everybody knew he had risen from an apprenticeship; and he could handle his pen like a writing-master.

Years ago he had suddenly appeared in the place a lad of eighteen – learned his trade faithfully, and risen in the confidence of his employer – been taken in as a partner soon after his time was up – and, finally, when old Willett died, had assumed the business on his own hands. This was all that was known of his affairs.

It was a common remark among some of the good people that he never had a word to say to a Christian soul; while others declared that though he spoke beautiful, when he chose to, there was something wrong in his accent. A tidy man, too, they called him, all but for having that scandalous green pond alongside of his factory, which wasn't deep enough for an eel, and was "just a fever-nest, as sure as you live."

His nationality was a great puzzle. The English name spoke plain enough for one side of his house, but of what manner of nation was his mother? If she'd been an American, he'd certain have had high cheek-bones and reddish skin; if a German, he would have known the language, and Squire Smith declared he didn't; if French (and his having that frog-pond made it seem likely) it would come out in his speech. No – there was nothing he could be but Dutch. And strangest of all, though the man always pricked up his ears when you talked of Holland, he didn't seem to know the first thing about the country when you put him to the point.

Anyhow, as no letters ever came to him from his mother's family in Holland, and as nobody living had ever seen old Higgs, the family couldn't be anything much. Probably Thomas Higgs himself was no better than he should be, for all he pretended to carry himself so straight; and for their parts, the gossips declared, they were not going to trouble their heads about him. Consequently Thomas Higgs and his affairs were never-failing subjects of discussion.

Picture, then, the consternation, among all the good people when it was announced by "somebody who was there and ought to know," that the post-boy had that very morning handed Higgs a foreign-looking letter, and the man had "turned as white as the wall; rushed to his factory, talked a bit with one of the head work-men, and without bidding a creature good-bye, was off bag and baggage before you could wink, ma'am." Mistress Scrubbs, his landlady, was in deep affliction. The dear soul became quite out of breath while speaking of him – "to leave lodgin's in that suddent way, without never so much as a day's warnin' which was what every woman who didn't wish to be trodden underfoot, which thank Hevving wasn't her way, had a perfect right to expect; yes, and a week's warnin' now you mention it, and without even so much as sayin' many thanks to you, Mistress Scrubbs, for all past kindnesses which was most numerous though she said it who shouldn't say it; leastwise she wasn't never no kind of a person to be lookin' for thanks every minnit – it was really scanderlous, though to be sure Mister 'iggs paid up everythin' to the last farthin' and it fairly brought tears to her eyes to see his dear empty boots lyin' there in the corner of his room, which alone showed trouble of mind for he always stood 'em up straight as solgers though bein' half-soled twice they hadn't of course been worth takin' away."

Whereupon her dearest friend, Miss Scrumpkins, ran home to tell all about it. And, as everybody knew the Scrumpkinses, a shining gossamer of news was soon woven from one end of the street to the other.

An investigating committee met, that evening, at Mrs. Snigham's – sitting, in secret session, over her best china. Though invited only to a quiet "tea," the amount of judicial business they transacted on the occasion was prodigious. The biscuits were actually cold before the committee had a chance to eat anything. There was so much to talk over – and it was so important that it should be firmly established that each member had always been "certain sure that something extraordinary would be happening to that man yet," that it was near eight o'clock before Mrs. Snigham gave anybody a second cup.

XLVII

BROAD SUNSHINE

One snowy day in January, Laurens Boekman went with his father to pay his respects to the Brinker family.

Raff was resting after the labors of the day; Gretel, having filled and lighted his pipe, was brushing every speck of ash from the hearth; the dame was spinning; and Hans, perched upon a stool by the window, was diligently studying his lessons – A peaceful, happy household whose main excitement during the past week had been the looking forward to this possible visit from Thomas Higgs.

As soon as the grand presentation was over, Dame Brinker insisted upon giving her guests some hot tea; it was enough to freeze any one, she said, to be out in such crazy, blustering weather. While they were talking with her husband she whispered to Gretel that the young gentleman's eyes and her boy's were certainly as much alike as four beans, to say nothing of a way they both had of looking as if they were stupid and yet knew as much as a body's grandfather.

Gretel was disappointed. She had looked forward to a tragic scene, such as Annie Bouman had often described to her, from story books; and here was the gentleman who came so near being a murderer, who for ten years had been wandering over the face of the earth, who had believed himself deserted and scorned by his father – the very young gentleman who had fled from his country in such magnificent trouble, sitting by the fire just as pleasant and natural as could be!

To be sure his voice had trembled when he talked with her parents, and he had met his father's look with a bright kind of smile that would have suited a dragon-killer bringing the waters of perpetual youth to his king – but after all he wasn't at all like the conquered hero in Annie's book. He did not say, lifting his hand toward Heaven, "I hereby swear to be forever faithful to my home, my God and my country!" which would have been only right and proper under the circumstances.

All things considered, Gretel was disappointed. Raff, however, was perfectly satisfied. The message was delivered; Dr. Boekman had his son safe and sound; and the poor lad had done nothing sinful after all, except in thinking his father would have abandoned him for an accident. To be sure, the graceful stripling had become rather a heavy man – Raff had unconsciously hoped to clasp that same boyish hand again – but all things were changed to Raff, for that matter. So he pushed back every feeling but joy, as he saw father and son sitting side by side at his hearthstone. Meantime, Hans was wholly occupied in the thought of Thomas Higgs' happiness in being able to be the meester's assistant again; and Dame Brinker was sighing softly to herself, wishing that the lad's mother were alive to see him – such a fine young gentleman as he was; and wondering how Dr. Boekman could bear to see the silver watch getting so dull. He had worn it ever since Raff handed it over, that was evident. What had he done with the gold one he used to wear?

The light was shining full upon Dr. Boekman's face. How contented he looked; how much younger and brighter than formerly. The hard lines were quite melting away. He was laughing, as he said to the father:

"Am I not a happy man, Raff Brinker? My son will sell out his factory this month, and open a warehouse in Amsterdam. I shall have all my spectacle-cases for nothing."

Hans started from his reverie. "A warehouse, mynheer! and will Thomas Higgs – I mean – is your son not to be your assistant again?"

A shade passed over the meester's face, but he brightened with an effort, as he replied:

"Oh no, Laurens has had quite enough of that. He wishes to be a merchant."

Hans appeared so surprised and disappointed that his friend asked good-naturedly:

"Why so silent, boy? Is it any disgrace to be a merchant?"

"N – not a disgrace, mynheer," stammered Hans – "but – "

"But what?"

"Why, the other calling is so much better," answered Hans, "so much nobler. I think, mynheer," he added, kindling with enthusiasm, "that to be a surgeon, – to cure the sick and crippled, to save human life, to be able to do what you have done for my father – is the grandest thing on earth."

The doctor was regarding him sternly. Hans felt rebuked. His cheeks were flushed; hot tears were gathering under his lashes.

"It is an ugly business, boy, this surgery," said the doctor, still frowning at Hans; "it requires great patience, self-denial and perseverance."

"I am sure it does," cried Hans, kindling again. "It calls for wisdom too, and a reverence for God's work. Ah, mynheer, it may have its trials and drawbacks – but you do not mean what you say – it is great and noble, not ugly! Pardon me, mynheer. It is not for me to speak so boldly."

Dr. Boekman was evidently displeased. He turned his back on the boy, and conferred aside with Laurens. Meanwhile the dame scowled a terrible warning at Hans. These great people, she knew well enough, never like to hear poor folk speak up so pert.

The meester turned around.

"How old are you, Hans Brinker?"

"Fifteen, mynheer," was the startled reply.

"Would you like to become a physician?"

"Yes, mynheer," answered Hans, quivering with excitement.

"Would you be willing, with your parents' consent, to devote yourself to study, to go to the University – and, in time, be a student in my office?"

"YES, mynheer."

"You would not grow restless, think you, and change your mind just as I had set my heart upon preparing you to be my successor?"

Hans' eyes flashed.

"No, mynheer, I would not change."

"You may believe him, there," cried the dame, who could remain quiet no longer. "Hans is like a rock, when once he decides; and as for study, mynheer, the child has almost grown fast to his books of late. He can jumble off Latin already, like any priest!"

The doctor smiled. "Well, Hans, I see nothing to prevent us from carrying out this plan, if your father agrees."

"Ahem," said Raff, too proud of his boy to be very meek, "the fact is, mynheer, I prefer an active, out-of-door life, myself. But if the lad's inclined to study for a meester, and he'd have the benefit of your good word to push him on in the world, it's all one to me. The money's all that's a wanting, but it mightn't be long, with two strong pair of arms to earn it, before we – "

"Tut! tut!" interrupted the doctor, "if I take your right hand man away, I must pay the cost, and glad enough will I be to do it. It will be like having two sons – eh, Laurens? One a merchant and the other a surgeon – I shall be the happiest man in Holland! Come to me in the morning, Hans, and we will arrange matters at once."

Hans bowed assent. He dared not trust himself to speak.

"And, Brinker," continued the doctor, "my son Laurens will need a trusty, ready man like you, when he opens his warehouse in Amsterdam; some one to overlook matters, and see that the lazy clowns round about the place do their duty. Some one to – Why don't you tell him yourself, you rascal!"

This last was addressed to the son, and did not sound half as fierce as it looks in print. The rascal and Raff soon understood each other perfectly.

"I'm loath to leave the dykes," said the latter, after they had talked together a while, "but you have made me such a good offer, mynheer, I'd be robbing my family if I let it go past me."

Take a long look at Hans as he sits there staring gratefully at the meester, for you shall not see him again for many years.

And Gretel – Ah, what a vista of puzzling work suddenly opens before her! Yes, for dear Hans' sake she will study now. If he really is to be a meester, his sister must not shame his greatness.

How faithfully those glancing eyes shall yet seek for the jewels that lie hidden in rocky school-books! And how they shall yet brighten and droop at the coming of one whom she knows of now, only as the boy who wore a red cap on that wonderful day when she found the Silver Skates in her apron!

But the doctor and Laurens are going. Dame Brinker is making her best curtsey. Raff stands beside her, looking every inch a man as he grasps the meester's hand. Through the open cottage door we can look out upon the level Dutch landscape all alive with the falling snow.

CONCLUSION

Our story is nearly told. Time passes in Holland just as surely and steadily as here; in that respect no country is odd.

To the Brinker family it has brought great changes. Hans has spent the years faithfully and profitably, conquering obstacles as they arose, and pursuing one object with all the energy of his nature. If often the way has been rugged, his resolution has never failed. Sometimes he echoes, with his good old friend, the words said long ago in that little cottage near Broek: "Surgery is an ugly business;" but always in his heart of hearts lingers the echo of those truer words, "It is great and noble! it awakes a reverence for God's work!"

Were you in Amsterdam to-day, you might see the famous Dr. Brinker riding in his grand coach to visit his patients; or, it might be, you would see him skating with his own boys and girls upon the frozen canal. For Annie Bouman, the beautiful, frank-hearted peasant girl, you would inquire in vain; but Annie Brinker, the vrouw of the great physician, is very like her – only, as Hans says, she is even lovelier, wiser, more like a fairy godmother than ever.

Peter van Holp, also, is a married man. I could have told you before, that he and Hilda would join hands and glide through life together, just as years ago, they skimmed side by side over the frozen, sunlit river.

At one time, I came near hinting that Katrinka and Carl would join hands. It is fortunate now that the report was not started, for Katrinka changed her mind, and is single to this day. The lady is not quite so merry as formerly, and, I grieve to say, some of the tinkling bells are out of tune. But she is the life of her social circle, still. I wish she would be in earnest, just for a little while, but no; it is not her nature. Her cares and sorrows do nothing more than disturb the tinkling; they never waken any deeper music.

Rychie's soul has been stirred to its depths during these long years. Her history would tell how seed carelessly sown is sometimes reaped in anguish, and how a golden harvest may follow a painful planting. If I mistake not, you may be able to read the written record before long; that is, if you are familiar with the Dutch language. In the witty, but earnest author whose words are welcomed at this day, in thousands of Holland homes, few could recognize the haughty, flippant Rychie who scoffed at little Gretel.

Lambert van Mounen, and Ludwig van Holp, are good Christian men, and, what is more easily to be seen at a glance, thriving citizens. Both are dwellers in Amsterdam, but one clings to the old city of that name, and the other is a pilgrim to the new. Van Mounen's present home is not far from the Central Park, and he says if the New Yorkers do their duty, the Park will, in time, equal his beautiful Bosch, near the Hague. He often thinks of the Katrinka of his boyhood, but he is glad now that Katrinka, the woman, sent him away; though it seemed at the time his darkest hour. Ben's sister Jennie has made him very happy, happier than he could have been with any one else in the wide world.

Carl Schummel has had a hard life. His father met with reverses in business; and as Carl had not many warm friends, and above all, was not sustained by noble principles, he has been tossed about by Fortune's battle-dore until his gayest feathers are nearly all knocked off. He is a bookkeeper, in the thriving Amsterdam house of Boekman and Schimmelpenninck. Voostenwalbert, the junior partner, treats him kindly; and he, in turn, is very respectful to the "monkey with a long name for a tail."

Of all our group of Holland friends, Jacob Poot is the only one who has passed away. Good-natured, true-hearted and unselfish to the last, he is mourned now, as heartily as he was loved and laughed at while on earth. He grew to be very thin before he died; thinner than Benjamin Dobbs, who is now portliest among the portly.

Raff Brinker and his vrouw have been living comfortably in Amsterdam for many years – a faithful, happy pair; as simple and straightforward in their good fortune as they were patient and trustful in darker days. They have a zommerhuis near the old cottage and thither they often repair with their children and grandchildren on the pleasant summer afternoons when the pond-lilies rear their queenly heads above the water.

The story of Hans Brinker would be but half told, if we did not leave him with Gretel standing near. Dear, quick, patient little Gretel! What is she now? Ask old Dr. Boekman, he will declare she is the finest singer, the loveliest woman in Amsterdam; ask Hans and Annie, they will assure you she is the dearest sister ever known; ask her husband, he will tell you she is the brightest, sweetest little wife in Holland; ask Dame Brinker and Raff, their eyes will glisten with joyous tears; ask the poor, the air will be filled with blessings.

But, lest you forget a tiny form trembling and sobbing on the mound before the Brinker cottage, ask the Van Glecks; they will never weary telling of the darling little girl who won The Silver Skates.

THE END

1

Wooden Shoes.

2

Summer-house.

3

Canal-boats. Some of the first named are over thirty feet long. They look like green houses lodged on barges, and are drawn by horses walking along the bank of the canal. The trekschuiten are divided into two compartments, first and second class, and when not too crowded the passengers make themselves quite at home in them; the men smoke, the women knit or sew, while children play upon the small outer deck. Many of the canal-boats have white, yellow, or chocolate-colored sails. This last color is caused by a preparation of tan which is put on to preserve them.

4

Fair.

5

A stiver is worth about two cents of our money.

6

(Learn! learn! you idler, or this rope's end shall teach you.)

7

Ludwig, Gretel, and Carl were named after German friends. The Dutch form would be Lodewyk, Grietje and Karel.

8

Mrs. or Madame (pronounced Meffrow).

9

Miss – Young lady (pronounced yuffrow). In studied or polite address it would be jongvrowe (pronounced youngfrow).

10

A kwartje is a small silver coin worth one quarter of a guilder, or 10 cents in American currency.

11

The Dutch cent is worth less than half of an American cent.

12

A street in Amsterdam.

13

Doctor (dokter in Dutch) called meester by the lower class.

14

Pronounced Eye, an arm of the Zuider Zee.

15

Throughout this narrative distances are given according to our standard, the English statute mile of 5280 ft. The Dutch mile is more than four times as long as ours.

16

Bull's-Eye.

17

O Heere! laat my dat van uwen hand verwerven,

Te leven met gedult, en met vermaak te sterven.

18

Although the Tulip Mania did not prevail in England as in Holland, the flower soon became an object of speculation and brought very large prices. In 1636, Tulips were publicly sold on the Exchange of London. Even as late as 1800, a common price was fifteen guineas for one bulb. Ben did not know that in his own day a single Tulip plant, called the "Fanny Kemble" had been sold in London for more than 70 guineas.

Mr. Mackay in his "Memoirs of Popular Delusions" tells a funny story of an English botanist who happened to see a tulip bulb lying in the conservatory of a wealthy Dutchman. Ignorant of its value, he took out his penknife and, cutting the bulb in two, became very much interested in his investigations. Suddenly the owner appeared, and pouncing furiously upon him, asked him if he knew what he was doing. "Peeling a most extraordinary onion," replied the philosopher. "Hundert tousant tuyvel!" shouted the Dutchman, "it's an Admiral Vander Eyk!" "Thank you," replied the traveler, immediately writing the name in his note book; "pray are these very common in your country?" "Death and the tuyvel!" screamed the Dutchman, "come before the Syndic and you shall see!" In spite of his struggles the poor investigator, followed by an indignant mob, was taken through the streets to a magistrate. Soon he learned to his dismay that he had destroyed a bulb worth 4,000 florins ($1,600). He was lodged in prison until securities could be procured for the payment of the sum.