4 Hans Brinker

Hans had taken a string from his pocket. Humming a
tune as he knelt beside her, he proceeded to fasten Gretel’s
skate with all the force of his strong young arm.

“Oh, oh!” she cried in real pain.

With an impatient jerk, Hans unwound the string. He
would have cast it upon the ground in true big-brother style, had
he not just then spied a tear trickling down his sister’s cheek.

“I?ll fix it, never fear,” he said with sudden tenderness ;
“but we must be quick. The mother will need us soon.”

Then he glanced inquiringly about him, first at the ground,
next at some bare willow-branches above his head, and finally at
the sky, now gorgeous with streaks of blue, crimson and gold.

Finding nothing in any of these localities to meet his need,
his eye suddenly brightened, as, with the air of a fellow who
knew what he was about, he took off his cap, and, removing
the tattered lining, adjusted it in a smooth pad over the top of
Gretel’s aching foot.

“« Now,” he cried triumphantly, at the same time arranging
the strings as briskly as his benumbed fingers would allow,
“can you bear some pulling?”

Gretel drew up her lips as if to say, “ Hurt away,” but made
no further response.

In another moment they were laughing together, as, hand
in hand, they flew along the canal, never thinking whether the
ice would bear or not; for in Holland ice is generally an all-
winter affair. It settles itself upon the water in a determined
kind of way; and, so far from growing thin and uncertain
every time the sun is a little severe upon it, it gathers its
forces day by day, and flashes defiance to every beam.

Presently squeak, squeak ! sounded something beneath Hans’
feet. Next his strokes grew shorter, ending ofttimes with