178 Hans Brinker

a stranger; or it may be he saw a smile lurking in Peter’s
face, for he added sharply, —

“Come, now, what more do you wish? Supper? Beds?”

“No, mynheer. I am but searching for Dr. Boekman.’’

“© Go find him. He is not in Leyden.”

Peter was not to be put off so easily. After receiving a few
more rough words, he succeeded in obtaining permission to
leave a note for the famous surgeon; or, rather, he dought from
his amiable landlord the privilege of writing it there, and a
promise that it should be promptly delivered when Dr. Boek-
man arrived. This accomplished, Peter and Jacob returned
to the Red Lion.

This inn had once been a fine house, the home of a rich
burgher; but, having grown old and shabby, it had passed
through many hands, until, finally, it had fallen into the pos-
session of Mynheer Kleef. He was fond of saying, as he
looked up at its dingy, broken walls, “ Mend it, and paint it,
and there’s not a prettier house in Leyden.” It stood six
stories high from the street. The first three were of equal
breadth, but of various heights: the last three were in the
great high roof, and grew smaller and smaller, like a set of
double steps, until the top one was lost in a point. ‘The roof
was built of short, shining tiles; and the windows, with their
little panes, seemed to be scattered irregularly over the face of
the building, without the slightest attention to outward effect.
But the public room on the ground-floor was the landlord’s joy
and pride. He never said,“ Mend it, and paint it” there;
for everything was in the highest condition of Dutch neatness
and order. If you will but open your mind’s eye, you may
look into the apartment.

Imagine a large, bare room, with a floor that seemed to be