and proud. It is something to have given shelter to such a man!"

"Yes, indeed," said Ben. "I wonder, Van Mounen, whether you or I will
ever give any old building a right to feel so proud. Heigh-ho! There's
a great deal to be done yet in this world and some of us, who are
boys now, will have to do it. Look to your shoe latchet, Van. It's
unfastened."

A Catastrophe

It was nearly one o'clock when Captain van Holp and his command entered
the grand old city of Haarlem. They had skated nearly seventeen miles
since morning and were still as fresh as young eagles. From the youngest
(Ludwig van Holp, who was just fourteen) to the eldest, no less a
personage than the captain himself, a veteran of seventeen, there was
but one opinion--that this was the greatest frolic of their lives. To be
sure, Jacob Poot had become rather short of breath during the last mile
of two, and perhaps he felt ready for another nap, but there was enough
jollity in him yet for a dozen. Even Carl Schummel, who had become very
intimate with Ludwig during the excursion, forgot to be ill-natured. As
for Peter, he was the happiest of the happy and had sung and whistled
so joyously while skating that the staidest passersby had smiled as they
listened.

"Come, boys! It's nearly tiffin hour," he said as they neared a
coffeehouse on the main street. "We must have something more solid than
the pretty maiden's gingerbread"--and the captain plunged his hands into
his pockets as if to say, "There's money enough here to feed an army!"

"Halloo!" cried Lambert. "What ails the man?"

Peter, pale and staring, was clapping his hands upon his breast and
sides. He looked like one suddenly becoming deranged.

"He's sick!" cried Ben.

"No, he's lost something," said Carl.

Peter could only gasp, "The pocketbook with all our money in it--it's
gone!"

For an instant all were too much startled to speak.

Carl at last came out with a gruff, "No sense in letting one fellow have
all the money. I said so from the first. Look in your other pocket."

"I did. It isn't there."

"Open your underjacket."

Peter obeyed mechanically. He even took off his hat and looked into it,
then thrust his hand desperately into every pocket.

"It's gone, boys," he said at last in a hopeless tone. "No tiffin for
us, nor dinner, either. What is to be done? We can't get on without
money. If we were in Amsterdam, I could get as much as we want, but
there is not a man in Haarl