Chapter 29. A Day of Rest The sight-seeing came to an end at last, and so did our boys' visit to The Hague. They had spent three happy days and nights with the Van Gends, and, strange to say, had not once, in all that time, put on skates. The third day had indeed been one of rest. The noise and bustle of the city was hushed; sweet Sunday bells sent blessed, tranquil thoughts into their hearts. Ben felt, as he listened to their familiar music, that the Christian world is one, after all, however divided by sects and differences it may be. As the clock speaks everyone's native language in whatever land it may strike the hour, so church bells are never foreign if our hearts but listen. Led on by these clear voices, our party, with Mevrouw van Gend and her husband, trod the quiet but crowded streets, until they came to a fine old church in the southern part of the city.
The interior was large and, notwithstanding its great stained windows, seemed dimly lighted, though the walls were white and dashes of red and purple sunshine lay brightly upon pillar and pew.
Ben saw a few old women moving softly through the aisles, each bearing a high pile of foot stoves which she distributed among the congregation by skillfully slipping out the under one, until none were left. It puzzled him that mynheer should settle himself with the boys in a comfortable side pew, after seating his vrouw in the body of the church, which was filled with chairs exclusively appropriated to the women. But Ben was learning only a common custom of the country.
The pews of the nobility and the dignitaries of the city were circular in form, each surrounding a column. Elaborately carved, they formed a massive base to their great pillars standing out in bold relief against the blank, white walls beyond. These columns, lofty and well proportioned, were nicked and defaced from violence done to them long ago; yet it seemed quite fitting that, before they were lost in the deep arches overhead, their softened outlines should leaf out as they did into richness and beauty.
Soon Ben lowered his gaze to the marble floor. It was a pavement of gravestones. Nearly all the large slabs, of which it was composed, marked the resting places of the dead. An armorial design engraved upon each stone, with inscription and date, told whose form as sleeping beneath, and sometimes three of a family were lying one above the other in the same sepulcher.
He could not help but think of the solemn funeral procession winding by torchlight through those lofty aisles and bearing its silent burden toward a dark opening whence the slab had been lifted, in readiness for its coming. It was something to think that his sister Mabel, who died in her flower, was lying in a sunny churchyard where a brook rippled and sparkled in the daylight and waving trees whispered together all night long; where flowers might nestle close to the headstone, and moon and stars shed their peace upon it, and morning birds sing sweetly overhead.
Then he looked up from the pavement and rested his eyes upon the carved oaken pulpit, exquisitely beautiful in design and workmanship. He could not see the minister--though, not long before, he had watched him slowly ascending its winding stair--a mild-faced man wearing a ruff about his neck and a short cloak reaching nearly to the knee.
Meantime the great church had been silently filling. Its pews were somber with men and its center radiant with women in their fresh Sunday attire. Suddenly a soft rustling spread through the pulpit. All eyes were turned toward the minister now appearing above the pulpit.
Although the sermon was spoken slowly, Ben could understand little of what was said; but when the hymn came, he joined in with all his heart. A thousand voices lifted in love and praise offered a grander language than he could readily comprehend.
Once he was startled, during a pause in the service, by seeing a little bag suddenly shaken before him. It had a tinkling bell at its side and was attached to a long stick carried by one of the deacons of the church. Not relying solely upon the mute appeal of the poor boxes fastened to the columns near the entrance, this more direct method was resorted to, of awakening the sympathies of the charitable.
Fortunately Ben had provided himself with a few stivers, or the musical bag must have tinkled before him in vain.
More than once, a dark look rose on our English boy's face that morning. He longed to stand up and harangue the people concerning a peculiarity that filled him with pain. Some of the men wore their hats during the service or took them off whenever the humor prompted, and many put theirs on in the church as soon as they arose to leave. No wonder Ben's sense of propriety was wounded; and yet a higher sense would have been exercised had he tried to feel willing that Hollanders should follow the customs of their country. But his English heart said over and over again, "It is outrageous! It is sinful!" There is an angel called Charity who would often save our hearts a great deal of trouble if we would but let her in.
Chapter 30. Homeward Bound On Monday morning, bright and early, our boys bade farewell to their kind entertainers and started on their homeward journey. Peter lingered awhile at the lion-guarded door, for he and his sister had many parting words to say.
As Ben saw them bidding each other good-bye, he could not help feeling that kisses as well as clocks were wonderfully alike everywhere. The English kiss that his sister Jenny had given him when he left home had said the same thing to him that the Vrouw van Gend's Dutch kiss said to Peter. Ludwig had taken his share of the farewell in the most matter-of-fact manner possible, and though he loved his sister well, had winced a little at her making such a child of him as to put an extra kiss "for mother" upon his forehead. He was already upon the canal with Carl and Jacob. Were they thinking about sisters or kisses? Not a bit of it. They were so happy to be on skates once more, so impatient to dart at once into the very heart of Broek, that they spun and wheeled about like crazy fellows, relieving themselves, meantime, by muttering something about "Peter and donder" not worth translating. Even Lambert and Ben, who had been waiting at the street corner, began to grow impatient.
The captain joined them at last and they were soon on the canal with the rest.
"Hurry up, Peter," growled Ludwig. "We're freezing by inches--there! I knew you'd be the last after all to get on your skates." "Did you?" said his brother, looking up with an air of deep interest. "Clever boy!" Ludwig laughed but tried to look cross, as he said, "I'm in earnest. We must get home sometime this year." "Now, boys," cried Peter, springing up as he fastened the last buckle. "There's a clear way before us! We will imagine it's the grand race. Ready! One, two, three, start!" I assure you that very little was said for the first half hour. They were six Mercuries skimming the ice. In plain English, they were lightning. No--that is imaginary too. The fact is, one cannot decide what to say when half a dozen boys are whizzing past at such a rate. I can only tell you that each did his best, flying, with bent body and eager eyes, in and out among the placid skates on the canal, until the very guard shouted to them to "Hold up!" This only served to send them onward with a two-boy power that startled all beholders.
But the laws of inertia are stronger even than canal guards.
After a while Jacob slackened his speed, then Ludwig, then Lambert, then Carl.
They soon halted to take a long breath and finally found themselves standing in a group gazing after Peter and Ben, who were still racing in the distance as if their lives were at stake.
"It is very evident," said Lambert at he and his three companions started up again, "that neither of them will give up until he can't help it." "What foolishness," growled Carl, "to tire themselves at the beginning of the journey! But they're racing in earnest--that's certain. Halloo! Peter's flagging!" "Not so!" cried Ludwig. "Catch him being beaten!" "Ha! ha!" sneered Carl. "I tell you, boy, Benjamin is ahead." Now, if Ludwig disliked anything in this world, it was to be called a boy--probably because he was nothing else. He grew indignant at once.
"Humph, what are you , I wonder. There, sir! Now look and see if Peter isn't ahead!" "I think he is ," interposed Lambert, "but I can't quite tell at this distance." "I think he isn't!" retorted Carl.
Jacob was growing anxious--he always abhorred an argument--so he said in a coaxing tone, "Don't quarrel--don't quarrel!" "Don't quarrel!" mocked Carl, looking back at Jacob as he skated. "Who's quarreling? Poot, you're a goose!" "I can't help that," was Jacob's meek reply. "See! they are nearing the turn of the canal." " Now we can see!" cried Ludwig in great excitement.
"Peter will make it first, I know." "He can't--for Ben is ahead!" insisted Carl. "Gunst! That iceboat will run over him. No! He is clear! They're a couple of geese, anyhow. Hurrah! they're at the turn. Who's ahead?" "Peter!" cried Ludwig joyfully.
"Good for the captain!" shouted Lambert and Jacob.
And Carl condescended to mutter, "It is Peter after all. I thought, all the time, that head fellow was Ben." This turn in the canal had evidently been their goal, for the two racers came to a sudden halt after passing it.
Carl said something about being "glad that they had sense enough to stop and rest," and the four boys skated on in silence to overtake their companions. All the while Carl was secretly wishing that he had kept on with Peter and Ben, as he felt sure he could easily have come out winner. He was a very rapid, though by no means a graceful, skater.
Ben was looking at Peter with mingled vexation, admiration, and surprise as the boys drew near.
They heard him saying in English, "You're a perfect bird on the ice, Peter van Holp. The first fellow that ever beat me in a fair race, I can tell you!" Peter, who understood the language better than he could speak it, returned a laughing bow at Ben's compliment but made no further reply. Possibly he was scant of breath at the time.
"Now, Penchamin, vat you do mit yourself? Get so hot as a fire brick--dat ish no goot," was Jacob's plaintive comment. "Nonsense!" answered Ben. "This frosty air will cool me soon enough. I am not tired." "You are beaten, though, my boy," said Lambert in English, "and fairly too. How will it be, I wonder, on the day of the grand race?" Ben flushed and gave a proud, defiant laugh, as if to say, "This was mere pastime. I'm determined to beat then, come what will!"
