Hans Brinker, or the Silver Skates / Серебряные коньки. Книга для чтения на английском языке

“You may remain, jufvrouw,” he said in an altered voice.

Gretel had already disappeared.

In one corner of the cottage was a small closet where her rough, boxlike bed was fastened against the wall. None would think of the trembling little creature crouching there in the dark.

Dr. Boekman took off his heavy coat, filled an earthen basin with water, and placed it near the bed. Then turning to Hans he asked, “Can I depend upon you, boy?”

“You can, mynheer.”

“I believe you. Stand at the head, here – your mother may sit at your right – so.” And he placed a chair near the cot.

“Remember, jufvrouw, there must be no cries, no fainting.”

Dame Brinker answered him with a look.

He was satisfied.

“Now, Vollenhoven.”

Oh, that case with the terrible instruments! The assistant lifted them. Gretel, who had been peering with brimming eyes through the crack of the closet door, could remain silent no longer[322].

She rushed frantically across the apartment, seized her hood, and ran from the cottage.

Gretel and Hilda

It was recess hour. At the first stroke of the schoolhouse bell, the canal seemed to give a tremendous shout and grow suddenly alive with boys and girls.

Dozens of gaily clad children were skating in and out among each other, and all their pent-up merriment of the morning was relieving itself in song and shout and laughter. There was nothing to check the flow of frolic. Not a thought of schoolbooks came out with them into the sunshine. Latin, arithmetic, grammar – all were locked up for an hour in the dingy schoolroom. The teacher might be a noun if he wished, and a proper one at that, but THEY meant to enjoy themselves. As long as the skating was as perfect as this, it made no difference whether Holland were on the North Pole or the equator; and, as for philosophy, how could they bother themselves with inertia and gravitation and such things when it was as much as they could do to keep from getting knocked over in the commotion.

In the height of the fun, one of the children called out, “What is that?”

“What? Where?” cried a dozen voices.

“Why, don’t you see? That dark thing over there by the idiot’s cottage.”

“I don’t see anything,” said one.

“I do,” shouted another. “It’s a dog.”

“Where’s any dog?” put in a squeaky voice that we have heard before. “It’s no such thing – it’s a heap of rags.”

“Pooh! Voost,” retorted another grufly, “that’s about as near the fact as you ever get. It’s the goose girl, Gretel, looking for rats.”

“Well, what of it?” squeaked Voost. “Isn’t SHE a bundle of rags, I’d like to know?”

“Ha! ha! Pretty good for you, Voost! You’ll get a medal for wit yet, if you keep on[323].”

“You’d get something else, if her brother Hans were here. I’ll warrant you would!” said a muffled-up little fellow with a cold in his head[324].

As Hans was NOT there, Voost could afford to scout the insinuation.

“Who cares for HIM, little sneezer? I’d fight a dozen like him any day, and you in the bargain[325].”

“You would, would you? I’d like to catch you all at it,” and, by way of proving his words, the sneezer skated off at the top of his speed.

Just then a general chase after three of the biggest boys of the school was proposed – and friend and foe, frolicsome as ever, were soon united in a common cause.

Only one of all that happy throng remembered the dark little form by the idiot’s cottage. Poor, frightened little Gretel! She was not thinking of them, though their merry laughter floated lightly toward her, making her feel like one in a dream.

How loud the moans were behind the darkened window! What if those strange men were really killing her father!

The thought made her spring to her feet with a cry of horror.

“Ah, no!” She sobbed, sinking upon the frozen mound of earth where she had been sitting. Mother is there, and Hans. They will care for him. But how pale they were. And even Hans was crying!

Why did the cross old meester keep him and send me away? she thought. I could have clung to the mother and kissed her. That always makes her stroke my hair and speak gently, even after she has scolded me. How quiet it is now! Oh, if the father should die, and Hans, and the mother, what WOULD I do? And Gretel, shivering with cold, buried her face in her arms and cried as if her heart would break.

The poor child had been tasked beyond her strength[326] during the past four days. Through all, she had been her mother’s willing little handmaiden, soothing, helping, and cheering the half-widowed woman by day and watching and praying beside her all the long night. She knew that something terrible and mysterious was taking place at this moment, something that had been too terrible and mysterious for even kind, good Hans to tell.