pieces of wood narrowed and smoothed at their lower edge, and pierced with holes, through which were threaded strings of raw-hide.
These queer-looking affairs had been made by the boy Hans. His mother was a poor peasant-woman, too poor to even think of such a thing as buying skates for her little ones. Rough as these were, they had afforded the children many a happy hour upon the ice; and now, as with cold, red fingers, our young Hollanders tugged at the strings, their solemn faces bending closely over their knees, no vision of impossible iron runners came to dull the satisfaction glowing within.
In a moment the boy arose, and with a pompous swing of the arms, and a careless "Come on, Gretel!" glided easily across the canal.
"Ah, Hans!" called his sister plaintively, "this foot is not well yet. The strings hurt me on last market-day; and now I cannot bear them tied in the same place."
"Tie them higher up, then," answered Hans, as, without looking at her, he performed a wonderful cat's-cradle step on the ice.
"How can I? The string is too short."
Giving vent to a good-natured Dutch whistle, the English of which was, that girls were troublesome creatures, he steered towards her.
"You are foolish to wear such shoes, Gretel, when you have a stout leather pair. Your klompen[1] 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 of the burning peat. I can skate with these, but not with my wooden ones. Be careful now"—
- ↑ Wooden shoes.
