or, The Silver Skates 287

Peter was in excellent spirits. He had heard, through Hilda,
of Dame Brinker’s laugh and of Hans’ joyous words ; and he
needed no further proof that Raff Brinker was a cured man.
In fact, the news had gone forth in every direction for miles
around. Persons who had never before cared for the Brinkers,
or even mentioned them, except with a contemptuous sneer,
or a shrug of pretended pity, now became singularly familiar
with every point of their history. There was no end to the
number of ridiculous stories that were flying about.

Hilda, in the excitement of the moment, had stopped to ex-
change a word with the doctor’s coachman as he stood by the
horses, pommelling his chest, and clapping his hands. Her
kind heart was overflowing. She could not help pausing to
tell the cold, tired-looking man, that she thought the doctor
would be out soon: she even hinted to him that she suspected,
only suspected, that a wonderful cure had been performed, —
an idiot brought to his senses. Nay, she was sure of it; for
she had heard his widow laugh — no, not his widow, of course,
but his wife; for the man was as much alive as anybody, and,
for all she knew, sitting up and talking like a lawyer.

All this was very indiscreet. Hilda, in an impenitent sort
of way, felt it to be so.

But it is always so delightful to impart pleasant or surprising
news !

She went tripping along by the canal, quite resolved to
repeat the sin, ad infinitum, and tell nearly every girl and boy
in the school.

Meantime, Janzoon Kolp came skating by. Of course, in
two seconds, he was striking slippery attitudes, and shouting
saucy things to the coachman, who stared at him in indolent
disdain.