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 accuse Nicolas and defend themselves.

Paul Van Swieten's wound was slight. He stood outside the circle of his
companions, supporting the injured left arm with his right hand. He
frequently blew upon the burning spot in his flesh, over which a bit of
cloth was wrapped, but curiosity concerning the result of this
entertaining brawl was stronger than the wish to have it bandaged and
healed.

As the peace-maker's work was already drawing to a close, the wounded
lad, pointing with his sound hand in the direction of the school,
suddenly called warningly:

"There comes Herr von Nordwyk. Let the Glipper go, or there will be
trouble."

Paul Van Swieten again clasped his wounded arm with his right hand and
ran swiftly aroun