l you take us on?" cried Peter, hurrying with his companions as fast
as he could, for the boat as "bringing to" some distance ahead. "Will
you take us on?"

"We'll pay for the ride!" shouted Carl.

The man on board scarcely noticed him except to mutter something about
its not being a trekschuit. Still looking toward Peter, he asked, "How
many?"

"Six."

"Well, it's Nicholas's Day--up with you! Young gentleman sick?" He
nodded toward Jacob.

"Yes--broken down. Skated all the way from Broek," answered Peter. "Do
you go to Leyden?"

"That's as the wind says. It's blowing that way now. Scramble up!"

Poor Jacob! If that willing Mrs. Poot had only appeared just then, her
services would have been invaluable. It was as much as the boys could do
to hoist him into the boat. All were in at last. The schipper, puffing
away at his pipe, let out the sail, lifted the brake, and sat in the
stern with folded arms.

"Whew! How fast we go!" cried Ben. "This is something like! Feel better,
Jacob?"

"Much petter, I tanks you."

"Oh, you'll be as good as new in ten minutes. This makes a fellow feel
like a bird."

Jacob nodded and blinked his eyes.

"Don't go to sleep, Jacob, it's too cold. You might never wake up, you
know. Persons often freeze to death in that way."

"I no sleep," said Jacob confidently, and in two minutes he was snoring.

Carl and Ludwig laughed.

"We must wake him!" cried Ben. "It is dangerous, I tell you--Jacob!
Ja-a-c--"

Captain Peter interfered, for three of the boys were helping Ben for the
fun of the thing.

"Nonsense! Don't shake him! Let him alone, boys. One never snores like
that when one's freezing. Cover him up with something. Here, this cloak
will do. Hey, schipper?" and he looked toward the stern for permission
to use it.

The man nodded.

"There," said Peter, tenderly adjusting the garment, "let him sleep. He
will be as frisky as a lamb when he wakes. How far are we from Leyden,
schipper?"

"Not more'n a couple of pipes," replied a voice, rising from smoke like
the genii in fairy tales (puff! puff!). "Likely not more'n one an' a
half"--puff! puff!--"if this wind holds." Puff! puff! puff!

"What is the man saying, Lambert?" asked Ben, who was holding his
mittened hands against his cheeks to ward off the cutting air.

"He says we're about two pipes from Leyden. Half the boors here on the
canal measure distance by the time it takes them to finish a pipe."

"How ridiculous."