64 Hans Brinker

s

same time producing his mite of silver with a grand air. “TI
wish to consult with you about my father. He is a living
man, but sits like one
dead. He cannot even
think; and his words
mean nothing. But
he is not sick. He
fell on the dikes.”

“Hey? what?”
cried the doctor, be-
ginning to listen.

Hans told the whole
story in an incoherent
way, dashing off a tear
once or twice as he
talked, and finally end-
ing with an earnest, —

“Oh, do see him,
mynheer! His body
is well: it is only his
mind. I know this
money is not enough;
but take it, mynheer.
I shall earn more, I
know I shall. Oh, I
will toil for you all
my life, if you will but cure my father! ”

What was the matter with the old doctor? A brightness
like sunlight beamed from his face. His eyes were kind and
moist. “The hand that had lately clutched his cane, as if pre-
paring to strike, was laid gently upon Hans’ shoulder.

 

HANS AND DOCTOR BOEKMAN.