outed furiously to the laughing throng:

"Cowardly rabble!"

Scarcely had the words been uttered, when Paul Van Swieten raised his
grammar, bound in hog-skin, and hurled it at Wibisma's breast.

Other books followed, amid loud outcries, striking him on the legs and
shoulders. Bewildered, he shielded his face with his hands and retreated
to the church-yard wall, where he stood still and prepared to rush upon
his foes.

The stiff, fashionable high Spanish ruff no longer confined his handsome
head with its floating golden locks. Freely and boldly he looked his
enemies in the face, stretched the young limbs hardened by many a
knightly exercise, and with a true Netherland oath sprang upon Adrian
Van der Werff, who stood nearest.

After a short struggle, the burgomaster's son, inferior in strength and
age to his opponent, lay extended on the ground; but the other lads, who
had not ceased shouting, "Glipper, Glipper," seized the young noble, who
was kneeling on his vanquished foe.

Nicolas struggled bravely, but his enemies' superior power was too
great.

Frantic with fury, wild with rage and shame, he snatched the dagger from
his belt.

The boys now raised a frightful yell, and two of them rushed upon
Nicolas to wrest the weapon from him. This was quickly accomplished; the
dagger flew on the pavement, but Van Swieten sprang back with a low cry,
for the sharp blade had struck his arm, and the bright blood streamed on
the ground.

For several minutes the shouts of the lads and the piteous cries of the
black page drowned the beautiful melody of the organ, pouring from
the windows of the church. Suddenly the music ceased; instead of the
intricate harmony the slowly-dying note of a single pipe was heard, and
a young man rushed out of the door of the sacristy of the House of God.
He quickly perceived the cause of the wild uproar that had interrupted
his practising, and a smile flitted over the handsome face which, framed
by a closely-cut beard, had just looked startled enough, though the
reproving words and pushes with which he separated the enraged lads were
earnest enough, and by no means failed to produce their effect.

The boys knew the musician, Wilhelm Corneliussohn, and offered no
resistance, for they liked him, and his dozen years of seniority gave
him an undisputed authority among them. Not a hand was again raised
against Wibisma, but the boys, all shouting and talking together,
crowded around the organist to