"Just like a dream!" said Ludwig. Jacob drew close to Ben, giving his usual approving nod, as he spoke: "Dat ish goot. Dat ish te pest vay--I shay petter to take to Leyden mit a poat!" "Take a boat!" exclaimed Ben, in dismay--"why, man, our plan was to _skate_, not to be carried like little children----" "Tuyfels!" retorted Jacob, "dat ish no little--no papies--to go for poat!" The boys laughed, but exchanged uneasy glances. It would be great fun to jump on an ice-boat, if they had a chance; but to abandon so shamefully their grand undertaking--Who could think of such a thing? An animated discussion arose at once. Captain Peter brought his party to a halt. "Boys," said he, "it strikes me that we should consult Jacob's wishes in this matter. He started the excursion, you know." "Pooh!" sneered Carl, throwing a contemptuous glance at Jacob, "who's tired? We can rest all night at Leyden." Ludwig and Lambert looked anxious and disappointed. It was no slight thing to lose the credit of having skated all the way from Broek to the Hague, and back again; but both agreed that Jacob should decide the question. Good-natured, tired Jacob! He read the popular sentiment at a glance. "Oh! no," he said, in Dutch. "I was joking. We will skate, of course." The boys gave a delighted shout, and started on again with renewed vigor-- All but Jacob. He tried his best not to seem fatigued, and, by not saying a word, saved his breath and energy for the great business of skating. But in vain. Before long, the stout body grew heavier and heavier--the tottering limbs weaker and weaker. Worse than all, the blood, anxious to get far as possible from the ice, mounted to the puffy, good-natured cheeks, and made the roots of his thin, yellow hair glow into a fiery red. This kind of work is apt to summon Vertigo, of whom good Hans Andersen writes--the same who hurls daring young hunters from the mountains, or spins them from the sharpest heights of the glaciers, or catches them as they tread the stepping-stones of the mountain torrent. Vertigo came, unseen, to Jacob. After tormenting him a while, with one touch sending a chill from head to foot, with the next, scorching every vein with fever, she made the canal rock and tremble beneath him, the white sails bow and spin as they passed, then cast him heavily upon the ice. "Hallo!" cried Van Mounen. "There goes Poot!" Ben sprang hastily forward. "Jacob! Jacob, are you hurt?" Peter and Carl were lifting him. The face was white enough now. It seemed like a dead face--even the good-natured look was gone. A crowd collected. Peter unbuttoned the poor boy's jacket, loosened his red tippet, and blew between the parted lips. "Stand off, good people!" he cried, "give him air!" "Lay him down," called out a woman from the crowd. "Stand him upon his feet," shouted another. "Give him wine," growled a stout fellow who was driving a loaded sled. "Yes! yes, give him wine!" echoed everybody.