2 . ._ Hans Brinker

of the canal; or a lusty boy, skating to his day’s work in the
town, cast a good-natured grimace toward the shivering Bait
as he flew along.

Meanwhile, with many a vigorous puff and pull, the brother
and sister, for such they were, seemed to be fastening some-
thing upon their feet, — not skates, certainly, but clumsy
pieces of wood narrowed and smoothed at their lower edge,
and pierced with holes, through which were threaded strings
of raw-hide.

These queer-looking affairs had been made by the boy Hans.
His mother was a poor peasant-woman, too poor to even think
of such a thing as buying skates for her little ones. Rough as
these were, they had afforded the children many a happy hour
upon the ice; and now, as with cold, red fingers, our young
Hollanders tugged at the strings, their solemn faces bending
closely over their knees, no vision of impossible iron runners
came to dull the satisfaction glowing within.

In a moment the boy arose, and with a pompous swing of
the arms, and a careless “Come on, Gretel!” glided easily
across the canal.

“ Ah, Hans!” called his sister, plaintively, “this foot is not
well yet. The strings hurt me on last market-day; and now
I cannot bear them tied in the same place.”

“Tie them higher up, then,” answered Hans, as, without
looking at her, he performed a wonderful cat’s-cradle step on
the ice.

“ How can 1? The string is too short.”

Giving vent to a good-natured Dutch whistle, the English
of which was, that girls were troublesome creatures, he steered
towards her.

‘You are foolish to wear such shoes, Gretel, when you