r one of the great oaken sluices, and bounding up beside it
he carefully examined the dyke. There, as small as his finger, was a
hole--strange and unaccountable happening,--and through that little
hole was flowing the stream of water at his feet.

Like lightning the flash of intuition came to Peter, if that hole were
not stopped up instantly, the force of the flow through it would
rapidly increase from the pounding of that mighty sea behind it. In a
night the flood would break through the dyke and perhaps destroy all
the homes in Holland.

What could he do? No stone would fit the hole, no amount of earth
packed into the crevice could resist the pressure of the water. Peter
was desperate. Forgotten now were his bunch of flowers which fell
unheeded from his hand. He strained his eyes in a vain search for
travellers on that lonely road, vainly he shouted out for help until
his throat was hoarse. What could he do? It was no common instinct that
came in that lightning flash to Peter. Climbing again up the steep
bank, from stone to stone, he thrust his finger in the hole and, oh,
joy, it fitted! It stopped the trickling water for the moment, but, oh,
what would happen when he took it out?

Ah, it was as clear as daylight, what to do. He would not take it out
until someone should come to relieve him. Forgetful of what this idea
might bring to him, if carried out, he chuckled with a boyish delight
in this real adventure.

"Ha, ha!" he said to himself. "The water _can't_ come down now. Haarlem
shall not be drowned while I am here to keep the flood back."

For awhile excitement kept him warm and fearless. Then the chill
darkness of the night surrounded him. All sorts of strange noises fell
upon his unaccustomed ears, he seemed to see giants and demons lurking
near, ready to pounce upon him and kill him. Although he was a sturdy
lad, tears came at last, when he could no longer keep back thoughts of
his comfortable bed at home, of the parents who might be even then
worrying about his safety, although as he before remained over night
with the old man, Jansen, he felt that his mother and father had
probably gone to bed and to sleep, while he was out in the dark night
alone and in such a misery of pain. The pain grew greater, the misery
harder to bear every moment now, and still Peter kept his finger in
that dangerous hole.

He tried to whistle, hoping to attract the attention of some straggling
traveller, but his teeth chatter