This was a slight mishap compared with one that now threatened him. A huge iceboat, under full sail, came tearing down the canal, almost paralyzing Ben with the thought of instant destruction. It was close upon him! He saw its gilded prow, heard the schipper *{Skipper. Master of a small trading vessel--a pleasure boat or iceboat.} shout, felt the great boom fairly whiz over his head, was blind, deaf, and dumb all in an instant, then opened his eyes to find himself spinning some yards behind its great skatelike rudder. It had passed within an inch of his shoulder, but he was safe! Safe to see England again, safe to kiss the dear faces that for an instant had flashed before him one by one--Father, Mother, Robby, and Jenny--that great boom had dashed their images into his very soul. He knew now how much he loved them. Perhaps this knowledge made him face complacently the scowls of those on the canal who seemed to feel that a boy in danger was necessarily a BAD boy needing instant reprimand.
Lambert chided him roundly.
"I thought it was all over with you, you careless fellow! Why don't you look where you are going? Not content with sitting on all the old ladies' laps, you must make a Juggernaut of every iceboat that comes along. We shall have to hand you over to the aanspreekers yet, if you don't look out!""Please don't," said Ben with mock humility, then seeing how pale Lambert's lips were, he added in a low tone, "I do believe ITHOUGHT more in that one moment, Van Mounen, than in all the rest of my past life."There was no reply, and, for a while, the two boys skated on in silence.
Soon a faint sound of distant bells reached their ears.
"Hark!" said Ben. "What is that?"
"The carillons," replied Lambert. "They are trying the bells in the chapel of yonder village. Ah! Ben, you should hear the chimes of the 'New Church' at Delft. They are superb--nearly five hundred sweet-toned bells, and on of the best carillonneurs of Holland to play upon them. Hard work, though. They say the fellow often has to go to bed from positive exhaustion, after his performances. You see, the bells are attached to a kind of keyboard, something like they have on pianofortes; there is also a set of pedals for the feet; when a brisk tune is going on, the player looks like a kicking frog fastened to his seat with a skewer.""For shame," said Ben indignantly.
Peter had, for the present, exhausted his stock of Haarlem anecdotes, and now, having nothing to do but skate, he and his three companions were hastening to catch up with Lambert and Ben.
"That English lad is fleet enough," said Peter. "If he were a born Hollander, he could do no better. Generally these John Bulls make but a sorry figure on skates. Halloo! Here you are, Van Mounen. Why, we hardly hoped for the honor of meeting you again. Whom were you flying from in such haste?""Snails," retorted Lambert. "What kept you?""We have been talking, and besides, we halted once to give Poot a chance to rest.""He begins to look rather worn-out," said Lambert in a low voice.
Just then a beautiful iceboat with reefed sail and flying streamers swept leisurely by. Its deck was filled with children muffled up to their chins. Looking at them from the ice you could see only smiling little faces imbedded in bright-colored woolen wrappings. They were singing a chorus in honor of Saint Nicholas. The music, starting in the discord of a hundred childish voices, floated, as it rose, into exquisite harmony:
"Friend of sailors and of children!
Double claim have we, As in youthful joy we're sailing, O'er a frozen sea!
Nicholas! Saint Nicholas!
Let us sing to thee!
While through wintry air we're rushing, As our voices blend, Are you near us? Do you hear us, Nicholas, our friend?
Nicholas! Saint Nicholas!
Love can never end.
Sunny sparkles, bright before us, Chase away the cold!
Hearts where sunny thoughts are welcome, Never can grow old.
Nicholas! Saint Nicholas!
Never can grow old!
Pretty gift and loving lesson, Festival and glee, Bid us thank thee as we're sailing O'er the frozen sea.
Nicholas! Saint Nicholas!
So we sing to thee!
Jacob Poot Changes the PlanThe last note died away in the distance. Our boys, who in their vain efforts to keep up with the boat had felt that they were skating backward, turned to look at one another.
"How beautiful that was!" exclaimed Van Mounen.
"Just like a dream!"
Jacob drew close to Ben, giving his usual approving nod, as he spoke. "Dat ish goot. Dat ish te pest vay. I shay petter to take to Leyden mit a poat!""Take a boat!" exclaimed Ben in dismay. "Why, man, our plan was to SKATE, not to be carried like little children.""Tuyfels!" retorted Jacob. "Dat ish no little--no papies--to go for poat!"The boys laughed but exchanged uneasy glances. It would be great fun to jump on an iceboat, if they had a chance, but to abandon so shamefully their grand undertaking--who could think of such a thing?
An animated discussion arose at once.
Captain Peter brought his party to a halt.
"Boys," said he, "it strikes me that we should consult Jacob's wishes in this matter. He started the excursion, you know.""Pooh!" sneered Carl, throwing a contemptuous glance at Jacob.
"Who's tired? We can rest all night in Leyden."Ludwig and Lambert looked anxious and disappointed. It was no slight thing to lose the credit of having skated all the way from Broek to the Hague and back again, but both agreed that Jacob should decide the question.
Good-natured, tired Jacob! He read the popular sentiment at a glance.
"Oh, no," he said in Dutch. "I was joking. We will skate, of course."The boys gave a delighted shout and started on again with renewed vigor.
All but Jacob. He tried his best not to seem fatigued and, by not saying a word, saved his breath and energy for the great business of skating. But in vain. Before long, the stout body grew heavier and heavier--the tottering limbs weaker and weaker.
