Hans Brinker; Or, The Silver SkatesDodge, Mary Mapes
History
Hans Brinker; Or, The Silver Skates
Dodge, Mary Mapes
Netherlands -- History -- 19th century -- Juvenile fiction; Siblings -- Juvenile fiction; Skating -- Juvenile fiction
His grand coach was not far away; the driver had kept the horses moving
slowly up and down by the canal, nearly all the time the doctor had been
in the cottage.
Hans went out also.
"May God bless you, mynheer!" he said, blushing and trembling. "I can
never repay you, but if----"
"Yes, you can," interrupted the doctor, crossly. "You can use your wits
when the patient wakes again. This clacking and snivelling is enough to
kill a well man, let alone one lying on the edge of his grave. If you
want your father to get well, keep 'em quiet."
So saying, Dr. Boekman, without another word, stalked off, to meet his
coach, leaving Hans standing there with eyes and mouth wide open.
Hilda was reprimanded severely that day for returning late to school
after recess, and for imperfect recitations.
She had remained near the cottage until she heard Dame Brinker laugh,
until she had heard Hans say, "Here I am, father!" and then she had gone
back to her lessons. What wonder that she missed them! How could she get
a long string of Latin verbs by heart, when her heart did not care a fig
for them, but would keep saying to itself, "Oh, I am so glad! I am so
glad!"
XXXV
BONES AND TONGUES
Bones are strange things. One would suppose that they knew nothing at
all about school affairs, but they do. Even Jacob Poot's bones, buried
as they were in flesh, were sharp in the matter of study hours.
Early on the morning of his return they ached through and through,
giving Jacob a twinge at every stroke of the school-bell--as if to say
"stop that clapper! There's trouble in it." After school, on the
contrary, they were quiet and comfortable; in fact, seemed to be taking
a nap among their cushions.
The other boys' bones behaved in a similar manner--but that is not so
remarkable. Being nearer the daylight than Jacob's, they might be
expected to be more learned in the ways of the world. Master Ludwig's,
especially, were like beauty, only skin deep; they were the most knowing
bones you ever heard of. Just put before him ever so quietly, a
Grammar-book with a long lesson marked in it, and immediately the sly
bone over his eyes would set up such an aching! Request him to go to the
garret for your foot-stove--instantly the bones would remind him that he
was "too tired." Ask him to go to the confectioner's, a mile away, and
_presto!_ not a bone would remember that it ever had been used before.
Bearing all this in mind you will not wonder when I tell you that our
five boys were among the happiest of the happy throng pouring forth from
the schoolhouse that day.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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