en found himself apologizing to
empty air. The indignant old lady was far ahead.

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 I THOUGHT
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 indi