296 Hans Brinker

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The father was “sitting up” at last. What wonder that
he looked about him like one bewildered? “ Little Hans” had
just been almost carrying him. “The baby” was over four
feet long, and was demurely brushing up the hearth with a
bundle of willow-wisps. Meitje, the vrouw, winsome and fair
as ever, had gained at least fifty pounds in what seemed to
him a few hours. She also had some new lines in her face
that puzzled him. The only familiar things in the room were
the pine table, that he had made before he was married, the
Bible upon the shelf, and the cupboard in the corner.

Ah, Raff Brinker! it was only natural that your eyes should
fill with hot tears, even while looking at the joyful faces of
your loved ones. ‘Ten years dropped from a man’s life are no
small loss, —ten years of manhood, of household happiness
and care,— ten years of honest labor, of conscious enjoyment
of sunshine and outdoor beauty,— ten years of grateful life;
one day looking forward to all this; the next, waking to find
them passed, and a blank. What wonder the scalding tears
dropped one by one upon, your cheek !

Tender little Gretel! The prayer of her life was answered
through those tears. She loved her father from that moment.
Hans and his mother glanced silently at each other when they
saw her spring towards him, and throw her arms about his neck,

“Father, dear father,” she whispered, pressing her cheek
close to his, “don’t cry. We are all here.”

“< God bless thee,” sobbed Raff, kissing her again and again.
“Thad forgotten that!”

Soon he looked up again, and spoke in a cheerful voice.
“T should know her, vroww,” he said, holding the sweet
young face between his hands, and gazing at it as though he
were watching it grow, — “I should know her. The same