VII
HANS HAS HIS WAY
Broek, with its quiet, spotless streets, its frozen rivulets, its yellowbrick pavements, and bright wooden houses, was near by. It was a villagewhere neatness and show were in full blossom; but the inhabitants seemedto be either asleep or dead.
Not a footprint marred the sanded paths, where pebbles and sea-shellslay in fanciful designs. Every window-shutter was closed as tightly asthough air and sunshine were poison; and the massive front doors werenever opened except on the occasion of a wedding, christening, or afuneral.
Serene clouds of tobacco-smoke were floating through hidden apartments,and children, who otherwise might have awakened the place, were studyingin out-of-the-way corners, or skating upon the neighboring canal. A fewpeacocks and wolves stood in the gardens, but they had never enjoyed theluxury of flesh and blood. They were cut out in growing box, and seemedguarding the grounds with a sort of green ferocity. Certain livelyautomata, ducks, women and sportsmen, were stowed away in summer-houses,waiting for the spring-time, when they could be wound up, and rivaltheir owners in animation; and the shining, tiled roofs, mosaiccourtyards and polished house-trimmings flashed up a silent homage tothe sky, where never a speck of dust could dwell.
Hans glanced toward the village, as he shook his silver kwartjes, andwondered whether it were really true, as he had often heard, that someof the people of Broek were so rich that they used kitchen utensils ofsolid gold.
He had seen Mevrouw van Stoop's sweet-cheeses in market, and he knewthat the lofty dame earned many a bright, silver guilder in sellingthem. But did she set the cream to rise in golden pans? Did she use agolden skimmer? When her cows were in winter quarters, were their tailsreally tied up with ribbons?
These thoughts ran through his mind as he turned his face towardAmsterdam, not five miles away, on the other side of the frozen Y.[14]The ice upon the canal was perfect; but his wooden runners, so soon tobe cast aside, squeaked a dismal farewell, as he scraped and skimmedalong.
[Footnote 14: Pronounced Eye, an arm of the Zuider Zee.]
When crossing the Y, whom should he see skating toward him but the greatDr. Boekman, the most famous physician and surgeon in Holland. Hans hadnever met him before, but he had seen his engraved likeness in many ofthe shop-windows of Amsterdam. It was a face that one could neverforget. Thin and lank, though a born Dutchman, with stern, blue eyes,and queer, compressed lips, that seemed to say "no smiling permitted,"he certainly was not a very jolly or sociable looking personage, nor onethat a well-trained boy would care to accost unbidden.
But Hans _was_ bidden, and that, too, by a voice he seldomdisregarded--his own conscience.
"Here comes the greatest doctor in the world," whispered the voice. "Godhas sent him; you have no right to buy skates when you might, with thesame money, purchase such aid for your father!"
The wooden runners gave an exultant squeak. Hundreds of beautiful skateswere gleaming and vanishing in the air above him. He felt the moneytingle in his fingers. The old doctor looked fearfully grim andforbidding. Hans' heart was in his throat, but he found voice enough tocry out, just as he was passing:
"Mynheer Boekman!"
The great man halted, and sticking out his thin under lip, lookedscowlingly about him.
Hans was in for it now.
"Mynheer," he panted, drawing close to the fierce-looking doctor, "Iknew you could be none other than the famous Boekman. I have to ask agreat favor----"
"Humph!" muttered the doctor, preparing to skate past theintruder,--"Get out of the way--I've no money--never give to beggars."
"I am no beggar, Mynheer," retorted Hans proudly, at the same timeproducing his mite of silver with a grand air. "I wish to consult withyou about my father. He is a living man, but sits like one dead. Hecannot think. His words mean nothing--but he is not sick. He fell on thedykes."
"Hey? what?" cried the doctor beginning to listen.
Hans told the whole story in an incoherent way, dashing off a tear onceor twice as he talked, and finally ending with an earnest,
"Oh, do see him, Mynheer. His body is well--it is only his mind--I knowthis money is not enough; but take it, Mynheer, I will earn more--I knowI will--Oh! I will toil for you all my life, if you will but cure myfather!"
What was the matter with the old doctor? A brightness like sunlightbeamed from his face. His eyes were kind and moist; the hand that hadlately clutched his cane, as if preparing to strike, was laid gentlyupon Hans' shoulder.
"Put up your money, boy, I do not want it--we will see your father. Itis a hopeless case, I fear. How long did you say?"
"Ten years, Mynheer," sobbed Hans, radiant with sudden hope.
"Ah! a bad case; but I shall see him. Let me think. To-day I start forLeyden, to return in a week, then you may expect me. Where is it?"
"A mile south of Broek, Mynheer, near the canal. It is only a poor,broken-down hut. Any of the children thereabout can point it out to yourhonor," added Hans, with a heavy sigh; "they are all half afraid of theplace; they call it the idiot's cottage."
"That will do," said the doctor, hurrying on, with a bright backward nodat Hans, "I shall be there. A hopeless case," he muttered to himself,"but the boy pleases me. His eye is like my poor Laurens. Confound it,shall I never forget that young scoundrel!" and, scowling more darklythan ever, the doctor pursued his silent way.
Again Hans was skating toward Amsterdam on the squeaking wooden runners;again his fingers tingled against the money in his pocket; again theboyish whistle rose unconsciously to his lips.
"Shall I hurry home," he was thinking, "to tell the good news, or shallI get the waffles and the new skates first? Whew! I think I'll go on!"
And so Hans bought the skates.