or, The Silver Skates 365

See them, indeed! They are winged Mercuries, every one
of them. What mad errand are they on? Ah,I know: they
are hunting Peter van Holp. He is some fleet-footed runaway
from Olympus. Mercury and his troop of winged cousins are
in full chase. They will catch him! Now Carl is the runa-
way. The pursuit grows furious. Ben is foremost !

The chase turns in a cloud of mist. It is coming this way.
Who is hunted now? Mercury himself. It is Peter, Peter
van Holp! Fly, Peter! Hans is watching you. He is send-
ing all his fleetness, all his strength, into your feet. Your
mother and sister are pale with eagerness. Hilda is trembling,
and dare not look up. Fly, Peter! The crowd has not gone
deranged: it is only cheering. The pursuers are close upon
you. Touch the white column! It beckons; it is reeling
before you — it —

“* Huzza! Huzza! Peter has won the silver skates! ”

“ PETER vAN Hoxp!” shouted the crier. But who heard
him? Peter van Holp!” shouted a hundred voices; for he
was the favorite boy of the place. “ Huzza! Huzza!”

Now the music was resolved to be heard. It struck up a
lively air, then a tremendous march. The spectators, thinking
something new was about to happen, deigned to listen and to
look.

The racers formed in single file. Peter, being tallest, stood
first. Gretel, the smallest of all, took her place at the end.
Hans, who had borrowed a strap from the cake-boy, was near
the head.

Three gayly twined arches were placed at intervals upon the
river, facing the Van Gleck pavilion.

Skating slowly, and in perfect time to the music, the boys
and girls moved forward, led on by Peter. It was beautiful to