or, The Silver Skates 185

monster chrysalis beside the half-frozen Peter, who, accordingly,
was skating with all his might over the coldest, bleakest, of
dreamland icebergs.

Something else, I say, besides the moonlight, was moving
across the bare, polished floor, — moving not quite so slowly,
but quite as stealthily.

Wake up, Ludwig! The voetspoelen pirate is growing real.

No. Ludwig does not waken; but he moans in his sleep.

Does not Carl hear it ? — Carl, the brave, the fearless.

No. Carl is dreaming of the race.

And Jacob? Van Mounen? Ben?

Not they. They, too, are dreaming of the race; and Ka-
trinka is singing through their dreams, laughing, flitting past
them. Now and then a wave from the great organ surges
through their midst.

Still the thing moves, slowly, slowly.

Peter! Captain Peter, there is danger !

Peter heard no call. But, in his dream, he slid a few thou-
sand feet from one iceberg to another; and the shock awoke
him.

Whew! How cold he was! He gave a hopeless, desperate
tug at the chrysalis. In vain: sheet, blanket and spread were
firmly wound about Jacob’s inanimate form. Peter looked
drowsily toward the window.

“Clear moonlight,” he thought; “we shall have pleasant
weather to-morrow. Halloo! What’s that?”

He saw the moving thing, or, rather, something black crouch-
ing upon the floor; for it had halted as Peter stirred.

He watched in silence.

Soon it moved again, nearer and nearer. It was a man
crawling upon hands and feet.