The Junior Classics, vol 6 | Page 4

Where else can nearly every
boy and girl perform feats on the ice that would attract a crowd if seen

on Central Park? Look at Ben! I did not see him before. He is really
astonishing the natives; no easy thing to do in the Netherlands. Save
your strength, Ben, you will need it soon. Now other boys are trying!
Ben is surpassed already. Such jumping, such poising, such spinning,
such india-rubber exploits generally! That boy with a red cap is the lion
now: his back is a watch-spring, his body is cork--no, it is iron, or it
would snap at that. He is a bird, a top, a rabbit, a corkscrew, a sprite, a
flesh-ball, all in an instant. When you think he's erect, he is down; and,
when you think he is down, he is up. He drops his glove on the ice, and
turns a somerset as he picks it up. Without stopping, he snatches the
cap from Jacob Poot's astonished head, and claps it back again
"hindside before." Lookers-on hurrah and laugh. Foolish boy! It is
arctic weather under your feet, but more than temperate overhead. Big
drops already are rolling down your forehead. Superb skater, as you are,
you may lose the race.
A French traveller, standing with a note-book in his hand, sees our
English friend, Ben, buy a doughnut of the dwarf's brother, and eat it.
Thereupon he writes in his note-book, that the Dutch take enormous
mouthfuls, and universally are fond of potatoes boiled in molasses.
There are some familiar faces near the white columns. Lambert,
Ludwig, Peter, and Carl are all there, cool, and in good skating-order.
Hans is not far off. Evidently he is going to join in the race, for his
skates are on,--the very pair that he sold for seven guilders. He had
soon suspected that his fairy godmother was the mysterious "friend"
who had bought them. This settled, he had boldly charged her with the
deed; and she, knowing well that all her little savings had been spent in
the purchase, had not had the face to deny it. Through the fairy
godmother, too, he had been rendered amply able to buy them back
again. Therefore Hans is to be in the race. Carl is more indignant than
ever about it; but, as three other peasant-boys have entered, Hans is not
alone.
Twenty boys and twenty girls. The latter, by this time, are standing in
front, braced for the start; for they are to have the first "run." Hilda,
Rychie, and Katrinka are among them. Two or three bend hastily to

give a last pull at their skate-straps. It is pretty to see them stamp to be
sure that all is firm. Hilda is speaking pleasantly to a graceful little
creature in a red jacket and a new brown petticoat. Why, it is Gretel!
What a difference those pretty shoes make, and the skirt, and the new
cap! Annie Bouman is there, too. Even Janzoon Kolp's sister has been
admitted; but Janzoon himself has been voted out by the directors,
because he killed the stork, and only last summer, was caught in the act
of robbing a bird's nest,--a legal offence in Holland.
This Janzoon Kolp, you see, was--There, I cannot tell the story just
now. The race is about to commence.
Twenty girls are formed in a line. The music has ceased.
A man, whom we shall call the crier, stands between the columns and
the first judges' stand. He reads the rules in a loud voice:--
"THE GIRLS AND BOYS ARE TO RACE IN TURN, UNTIL ONE
GIRL AND ONE BOY HAS BEATEN TWICE. THEY ARE TO
START IN A LINE FROM THE UNITED COLUMNS, SKATE TO
THE FLAGSTAFF LINE, TURN, AND THEN COME BACK TO
THE STARTING-POINT; THUS MAKING A MILE AT EACH
RUN."
A flag is waved from the judges' stand. Madame van Gleck rises in her
pavilion. She leans forward with a white handkerchief in her hand.
When she drops it, a bugler is to give the signal for them to start.
The handkerchief is fluttering to the ground. Hark!
They are off!
No. Back again. Their line was not true in passing the judges' stand.
The signal is repeated.
Off again. No mistake this time. Whew! how fast they go!
The multitude is quiet for an instant, absorbed in eager, breathless

watching.
Cheers spring up along the line of spectators. Huzza! five girls are
ahead. Who comes flying back from the boundary-mark? We cannot
tell. Something red, that is all. There is a blue spot flitting near it, and a
dash of yellow nearer still. Spectators at this end of the line strain their
eyes, and wish they had taken their post nearer the flagstaff.
The wave of cheers is coming back again. Now