“No, indeed”--Peter laughed--“she did exactly the right thing--ran home with her richly won treasures. Who would not? Don’t let us detain you, Hans,” he continued, turning around as he spoke, but Hans, who was eagerly watching his father, seemed to have forgotten their presence. Meantime, Raff, lost in thought, was repeating, under his breath, “Thomas Higgs, Thomas Higgs, aye, that’s the name. Alack! if I could but remember the place as well.” The skate case was elegantly made of crimson morocco, ornamented with silver. If a fairy had designed its delicate tracery, they could not have been more daintily beautiful. “For the Fleetest” was written upon the cover in sparkling letters. It was lined with velvet, and in one corner was stamped the name and address of the maker. Gretel thanked Peter in her own simple way, then, being quite delighted and confused and not knowing what else to do, she lifted the case, carefully examining it in every part. “It’s made by Mynheer Birmingham,” she said after a while, still blushing and holding it before her eyes. “Birmingham!” replied Lambert van Mounen, “that’s the name of a place in England. Let me see it.” “Ha! ha!” He laughed, holding the open case toward the firelight. “No wonder you thought so, but it’s a slight mistake. The case was made at Birmingham, but the maker’s name is in smaller letters. Humph! They’re so small, I can’t read them.” “Let me try,” said Peter, leaning over his shoulder. “Why, man, it’s perfectly distinct. It’s T-H--it’s T--” “Well!” exclaimed Lambert triumphantly, “if you can read it so easily, let’s hear it, T-H, what?” “T.H.-T.H. Oh! Why, Thomas Higgs, to be sure,” replied Peter, pleased to be able to decipher it at last. Then, feeling that they had been acting rather unceremoniously, he turned to Hans. Peter turned pale! What was the matter with the people? Raff and Hans had started up and were staring at him in glad amazement. Gretel looked wild. Dame Brinker, with an unlighted candle in her hand, was rushing about the room, crying, “Hans! Hans! Where’s your hat? Oh, the meester! Oh the meester!” “Birmingham! Higgs!” exclaimed Hans. “Did you say Higgs? We’ve found him! I must be off.” “You see, young masters.” The dame was panting, at the same time snatching Hans’s hat from the bed, “you see--we know him. He’s our--no, he isn’t. I mean--oh, Hans, you must go to Amsterdam this minute!” “Good night, mynheers,” panted Hans, radiant with sudden joy. “Good night. You will excuse me, I must go. Birmingham--Higgs--Higgs--Birmingham.” And seizing his hat from his mother and his skates from Gretel he rushed from the cottage. What could the boys think, but that the entire Brinker family had suddenly gone crazy! They bade an embarrassed “Good evening,” and turned to go. But Raff stopped them. “This Thomas Higgs, young masters, is a--a person.” “Ah!” exclaimed Peter, quite sure that Raff was the most crazy of all.