He has no news to
tell--it is already ringing through the crowd. GRETEL HAS WON THE SILVER
SKATES!

Like a bird she has flown over the ice, like a bird she looks about her
in a timid, startled way. She longs to dart to the sheltered nook where
her father and mother stand. But Hans is beside her--the girls are
crowding round. Hilda's kind, joyous voice breathes in her ear. From
that hour, none will despise her. Goose girl or not, Gretel stands
acknowledged queen of the skaters!

With natural pride Hans turns to see if Peter van Holp is witnessing
his sister's triumph. Peter is not looking toward them at all. He is
kneeling, bending his troubled face low, and working hastily at his
skate strap. Hans is beside him at once.

"Are you in trouble, mynheer?"

"Ah, Hans, that you? Yes, my fun is over. I tried to tighten my
strap--to make a new hole--and this botheration of a knife has cut it
nearly in two."

"Mynheer," said Hans, at the same time pulling off a skate, "you must
use my strap!"

"Not I, indeed, Hans Brinker," cried Peter, looking up, "though I thank
you warmly. Go to your post, my friend, the bugle will be sounding in
another minute."

"Mynheer," pleaded Hans in a husky voice, "you have called me your
friend. Take this strap--quick! There is not an instant to lose. I shall
not skate this time. Indeed, I am out of practice. Mynheer, you MUST
take it." And Hans, blind and deaf to any remonstrance, slipped his
strap into Peter's skate and implored him to put it on.

"Come, Peter!" cried Lambert from the line. "We are waiting for you."

"For madame's sake," pleaded Hans, "be quick. She is motioning to you to
join the racers. There, the skate is almost on. Quick, mynheer, fasten
it. I could not possibly win. The race lies between Master Schummel and
yourself."

"You are a noble fellow, Hans!" cried Peter, yielding at last. He sprang
to his post just as the white handkerchief fell to the ground. The bugle
sends forth its blast--loud, clear, and ringing.

Off go the boys!

"Mine Gott," cries a tough old fellow from Delft. "They beat everything,
these Amsterdam youngsters. See them!"

See them, indeed! They are winged Mercuries, every one of them. What mad
errand are they on? Ah, I know. They are hunting Peter van Holp. He is
some fleet-footed runaway from Olympus. Mercury and his troop of winged
cousins are in full chase. They will catch him! Now Carl is the runaway.
The pursuit grows furious--Ben is f