or, The Silver Skates 313

At the factories he met with no better luck. It seemed to
him, that in those great buildings, turning out respectively such
tremendous quantities of woollen, cotton and linen stuffs, such
world-renowned dyes and paints, such precious diamonds cut
from the rough, such supplies of meal, of bricks, of glass and
china, — that in at least one of these, a strong-armed boy, able
and eager to work, could find something to do. But no,
nearly the same answer met him everywhere, “No need of
more hands just now. If he had called before Nicholas Day,
they might have given him a job, as they were hurried then;
but at present they had more boys than they needed.” Hans
wished they could see, just for a moment, his mother and
Gretel. He did not know how the anxiety of both looked
out from his eyes, and how, more than once, the gruffest
denials were uttered with an uncomfortable consciousness that
the lad ought not to be turned away. Certain fathers, when
they went home that night, spoke more kindly than usual to
their own youngsters, from memory of a frank young face
saddened at their words; and, before morning, one man
actually resolved, that, if the Broek boy came in again, he
would instruct his head man Blankert to set him at something.

But Hans knew nothing of all this. “Toward sundown he
started on his return to Broek, uncertain whether the strange,
choking sensation in his throat arose from discouragement, or
resolution. There was one more chance. Mynheer van
Holp might have returned by this time. Master Peter, it was
reported, had gone to Haarlem to attend to something connected
with the great skating-race. Still Hans would go and try.

Fortunately Peter had returned early that morning. He
was at home when Hans reached there, and was just about
starting for the Brinker cottage.