"No, mynheer. It is the 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, the 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 the mother scream and ran to her. The 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 the 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 the 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 the 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 the 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 hand pressed to his head. The 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 the 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 to-day?" "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 the father in a week--but now that the change has come, we cannot wait--we think the 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."