ish to wear such shoes, Gretel, when you have a stout
leather pair. Your klompen *{Wooden shoes.} would be better than these."

"Why, Hans! Do you forget? The father threw my beautiful new shoes in
the fire. Before I knew what he had done, they were all curled up in the
midst o the burning peat. I can skate with these, but not with my wooden
ones. Be careful now--"

Hans had taken a string from his pocket. Humming a tune as he knelt
beside her, he proceeded to fasten Gretel's skate with all the force of
his strong young arm.

"Oh! oh!" she cried in real pain.

With an impatient jerk Hans unwound the string. He would have cast it on
the ground in true big-brother style, had he not just then spied a tear
trickling down his sister's cheek.

"I'll fix it--never fear," he said with sudden tenderness, "but we must
be quick. The mother will need us soon."

Then he glanced inquiringly about him, first at the ground, next at
some bare willow branches above his head, and finally at the sky, now
gorgeous with streaks of blue, crimson, and gold.

Finding nothing in any of these localities to meet his need, his eye
suddenly brightened as, with the air of a fellow who knew what he was
about, he took off his cap and, removing the tattered lining, adjusted
it in a smooth pad over the top of Gretel's worn-out shoe.

"Now," he cried triumphantly, at the same time arranging the strings
as briskly as his benumbed fingers would allow, "can you bear some
pulling?"

Gretel drew up her lips as if to say, "Hurt away," but made no further
response.

In another moment they were all laughing together, as hand in hand they
flew along the canal, never thinking whether the ice would bear them or
not, for in Holland ice is generally an all-winter affair. It settles
itself upon the water in a determined kind of way, and so far from
growing thin and uncertain every time the sun is a little severe upon
it, it gathers its forces day by day and flashes defiance to every beam.

Presently, squeak! squeak! sounded something beneath Hans' feet. Next
his strokes grew shorter, ending oftimes with a jerk, and finally,
he lay sprawling upon the ice, kicking against the air with many a
fantastic flourish.

"Ha! ha!" laughed Gretel. "That was a fine tumble!" But a tender heart
was beating under her coarse blue jacket, and even as she laughed, she
came, with a graceful sweep, close to her prostrate brother.

"Are you hurt, Hans? Oh, you are laughing!