ed, he inwardly hoped that the voetspoelen would not
haunt his dreams.

It was a cold, cheerless room; a fire had been newly kindled in the
burnished stove and seemed to shiver even while it was trying to burn.
The windows, with their funny little panes, were bare and shiny, and the
cold waxed floor looked like a sheet of yellow ice. Three rush-bottomed
chairs stood stiffly against the wall, alternating with three narrow
wooden bedsteads that made the room look like the deserted ward of
a hospital. At any other time the boys would have found it quite
impossible to sleep in pairs, especially in such narrow quarters, but
tonight they lost all fear of being crowded and longed only to lay their
weary bodies upon the feather beds that lay lightly upon each cot.
Had the boys been in Germany instead of Holland, they might have been
covered, also, by a bed of down or feathers. This peculiar form of
luxury was at that time adopted only by wealthy or eccentric Hollanders.

Ludwig, as we have seen, had not quite lost his friskiness, but the
other boys, after one or two feeble attempts at pillow firing, composed
themselves for the night with the greatest dignity. Nothing like fatigue
for making boys behave themselves!

"Good night, boys!" said Peter's voice from under the covers.

"Good night," called back everybody but Jacob, who already lay snoring
beside the captain.

"I say," shouted Carl after a moment, "don't sneeze, anybody. Ludwig's
in a fright!"

"No such thing," retorted Ludwig in a smothered voice. Then there was a
little whispered dispute, which was ended by Carl saying, "For my part,
I don't know what fear is. But you really are a timid fellow, Ludwig."

Ludwig grunted sleepily, but made no further reply.

It was the middle of the night. The fire had shivered itself to death,
and, in place of its gleams, little squares of moonlight lay upon the
floor, slowly, slowly shifting their way across the room. Something else
was moving also, but the boys did not see it. Sleeping boys keep but a
poor lookout. During the early hours of the night, Jacob Poot had been
gradually but surely winding himself with all the bed covers. He now lay
like a monster chrysalis beside the half-frozen Peter, who, accordingly,
was skating with all his might over the coldest, bleakest of dreamland
icebergs.

Something else, I say, besides the moonlight, was moving across
the bare, polished floor--moving not quite so slowly, but quite as