or, The Silver Skates 63

and surgeon in Holland! Hans had never met him before ;
but he had seen his engraved likeness in many of the shop-
windows of Amsterdam. It was a face that one could never
forget. Thin and lank, though a born Dutchman, with stern
blue eyes, and queer, compressed lips, that seemed to say, “ No
smiling allowed,” he certainly was not a very jolly or sociable
looking personage, nor one that a well-trained boy would care
to accost unbidden.

But Hans was bidden, and that, too, by a voice he seldom
disregarded, — his own conscience.

“Here comes the greatest doctor in the world,” whispered
the voice. ‘God has sent him. You have no right to buy
skates, when you might, with the same money, purchase such
aid for your father.”

The wooden runners gave an exultant squeak. Hundreds
of beautiful skates were gleaming and vanishing in the air
above him. He felt the money tingle in his fingers. The
old doctor looked fearfully grim and forbidding. Hans’ heart
was in his throat ; but he found voice enough to cry out, just
as he was passing, —

‘¢ Mynheer Boekman !”

The great man halted, and, sticking out his thin under-lip,
looked scowlingly about him.

Hans was in for it now.

“‘ Mynheer,” he panted, drawing close to the fierce-looking
doctor, “I knew you could be none other than the famous
Boekman. I have to ask a great favor —”

“Humph!” muttered the doctor, preparing to skate past
the intruder. ‘Get out of the way—I’ve no money —
never give to beggars.”

>

“Tam no beggar, mynheer,” retorted Hans, proudly, at the