It was a cold, cheerless room; a fire had been newly kindled in the burnished stove, and seemed to shiver even while it was trying to burn. The windows, with their funny little panes, were bare and shiny, and the cold, waxed floor looked like a sheet of yellow ice. Three rush-bottomed chairs stood stiffly against the wall, alternating with three narrow wooden bedsteads that made the room look like the deserted ward of a hospital. At any other time the boys would have found it quite impossible to sleep in pairs, especially in such narrow quarters; but to-night they lost all fear of being crowded, and longed only to lay their weary bodies upon the feather beds that lay lightly upon each cot. Had the boys been in Germany instead of Holland they might have been covered, also, by a bed of down or feathers. This peculiar form of luxury was at that time adopted only by wealthy or eccentric Hollanders. Ludwig, as we have seen, had not quite lost his friskiness; but the other boys, after one or two feeble attempts at pillow-firing, composed themselves for the night with the greatest dignity. Nothing like fatigue for making boys behave themselves. "Good-night, boys!" said Peter's voice from under the covers. "Good-night," called back everybody but Jacob, who already lay snoring beside the captain. "I say," shouted Carl, after a moment, "don't sneeze, anybody. Ludwig's in a fright!" "No such thing," retorted Ludwig in a smothered voice. Then there was a little whispered dispute, which was ended by Carl saying: "For _my_ part, I don't know what fear is. But you really are a timid fellow, Ludwig." Ludwig grunted sleepily, but made no further reply. * * * * * It was the middle of the night. The fire had shivered itself to death, and, in place of its gleams, little squares of moonlight lay upon the floor, slowly, slowly shifting their way across the room. Something else was moving also, but they did not see it. Sleeping boys keep but a poor lookout. During the early hours of the night, Jacob Poot had been gradually but surely winding himself with all the bed covers. He now lay like a monster chrysalis beside the half-frozen Peter, who, accordingly, was skating with all his might over the coldest, bleakest of dreamland icebergs. Something else, I say, besides the moonlight, was moving across the bare, polished floor--moving not quite so slowly, but quite as stealthily. Wake up, Ludwig! The voetspoelen pirate is growing real! No. Ludwig does not waken, but he moans in his sleep. Does not Carl hear it--Carl the brave, the fearless? No. Carl is dreaming of the race. And Jacob? Van Mounen? Ben? Not they. They, too, are dreaming of the race; and Katrinka is singing through their dreams--laughing, flitting past them; now and then a wave from the great organ surges through their midst. Still the thing moves, slowly, slowly. Peter! Captain Peter, there is danger! * * * * *