“The carillons,” replied Lambert. “They are trying the bells in the chapel of yonder village. Ah! Ben, you should hear the chimes of the ‘New Church’ at Delft. They are superb--nearly five hundred sweet-toned bells, and on of the best carillonneurs of Holland to play upon them. Hard work, though. They say the fellow often has to go to bed from positive exhaustion, after his performances. You see, the bells are attached to a kind of keyboard, something like they have on pianofortes; there is also a set of pedals for the feet; when a brisk tune is going on, the player looks like a kicking frog fastened to his seat with a skewer.” “For shame,” said Ben indignantly. Peter had, for the present, exhausted his stock of Haarlem anecdotes, and now, having nothing to do but skate, he and his three companions were hastening to catch up with Lambert and Ben. “That English lad is fleet enough,” said Peter. “If he were a born Hollander, he could do no better. Generally these John Bulls make but a sorry figure on skates. Halloo! Here you are, Van Mounen. Why, we hardly hoped for the honor of meeting you again. Whom were you flying from in such haste?” “Snails,” retorted Lambert. “What kept you?” “We have been talking, and besides, we halted once to give Poot a chance to rest.” “He begins to look rather worn-out,” said Lambert in a low voice. Just then a beautiful iceboat with reefed sail and flying streamers swept leisurely by. Its deck was filled with children muffled up to their chins. Looking at them from the ice you could see only smiling little faces imbedded in bright-colored woolen wrappings. They were singing a chorus in honor of Saint Nicholas. The music, starting in the discord of a hundred childish voices, floated, as it rose, into exquisite harmony: “Friend of sailors and of children! Double claim have we, As in youthful joy we’re sailing, O’er a frozen sea! Nicholas! Saint Nicholas! Let us sing to thee! While through wintry air we’re rushing, As our voices blend, Are you near us? Do you hear us, Nicholas, our friend? Nicholas! Saint Nicholas! Love can never end. Sunny sparkles, bright before us, Chase away the cold! Hearts where sunny thoughts are welcome, Never can grow old. Nicholas! Saint Nicholas! Never can grow old! Pretty gift and loving lesson, Festival and glee, Bid us thank thee as we’re sailing O’er the frozen sea. Nicholas! Saint Nicholas! So we sing to thee! Jacob Poot Changes the Plan The last note died away in the distance. Our boys, who in their vain efforts to keep up with the boat had felt that they were skating backward, turned to look at one another. “How beautiful that was!” exclaimed Van Mounen. “Just like a dream!”