She passes the Van Holp pavilion. The next is Madame van Gleck's. That leaning figure gazing from it is a magnet. Hilda shoots past Katrinka, waving her hand to her mother as she passes. Two others are close now, whizzing on like arrows. What is that flash of red and gray? Hurrah, it is Gretel! She, too, waves her hand, but toward no gay pavilion. The crowd is cheering; but she hears only her father's voice,--"Well done, little Gretel!" Soon Katrinka, with a quick, merry laugh, shoots past Hilda, The girl in yellow is gaining now. She passes them all,--all except Gretel. The judges lean forward without seeming to lift their eyes from their watches. Cheer after cheer fills the air: the very columns seem rocking. Gretel has passed them. She has won. "GRETEL BRINKER, ONE MILE!" shouts the crier. The judges nod. They write something upon a tablet which each holds in his hand. While the girls are resting,--some crowding eagerly around our frightened little Gretel, some standing aside in high disdain,--the boys form in line. Mynheer van Gleck drops the handkerchief, this time. The buglers give a vigorous blast. The boys have started. Halfway already. Did ever you see the like! Three hundred legs flashing by in an instant. But there are only twenty boys. No matter: there were hundreds of legs, I am sure. Where are they now? There is such a noise, one gets bewildered. What are the people laughing at? Oh! at that fat boy in the rear. See him go! See him! He'll be down in an instant: no, he won't. I wonder if he knows he is all alone: the other boys are nearly at the boundary-line. Yes, he knows it. He stops. He wipes his hot face. He takes off his cap, and looks about him. Better to give up with a good grace. He has made a hundred friends by that hearty, astonished laugh. Good Jacob Poot! The fine fellow is already among the spectators, gazing as eagerly as the rest. A cloud of feathery ice flies from the heels of the skaters as they "bring to" and turn at the flagstaffs. Something black is coming now, one of the boys: it is all we know. He has touched the _vox humana_ stop of the crowd: it fairly roars. Now they come nearer: we can see the red cap. There's Ben, there's Peter, there's Hans! Hans is ahead. Young Madame van Gend almost crushes the flowers in her hand: she had been quite sure that Peter would be first. Carl Schummel is next, then Ben, and the youth with the red cap. The others are pressing close. A tall figure darts from among them. He passes the red cap, he passes Ben, then Carl. Now it is an even race between him and Hans. Madame van Gend catches her breath. It is Peter! He is ahead! Hans shoots past him. Hilda's eyes fill with tears: Peter _must_ beat. Annie's eyes flash proudly. Gretel gazes with clasped hands: four strokes more will take her brother to the columns.