ery jolly or sociable-looking personage, nor one
that a well-trained boy would care to accost unbidden.

But Hans WAS bidden, and that, too, by a voice he seldom
disregarded--his own conscience.

"Here comes the greatest doctor in the world," whispered the voice. "God
has sent him. You have no right to buy skates when you might, with the
same money, purchase such aid for your father!"

The wooden runners gave an exultant squeak. Hundreds of beautiful skates
were gleaming and vanishing in the air above him. He felt the money
tingle in his fingers. The old doctor looked fearfully grim and
forbidding. Hans's heart was in his throat, but he found voice enough to
cry out, just as he was passing, "Mynheer Boekman!"

The great man halted and, sticking out his thin underlip, looked
scowling about him.

Hans was in for it now.

"Mynheer," he panted, drawing close to the fierce-looking doctor, "I
knew you could be none other than the famous Boekman. I have to ask a
great favor--"

"Hump!" muttered the doctor, preparing to skate past the intruder. "Get
out of the way. I've no money--never give to beggars."

"I am no beggar, mynheer," retorted Hans proudly, at the same time
producing his mite of silver with a grand air. "I wish to consult you
about my father. He is a living man but sits like one dead. He cannot
think. His words mean nothing, but he is not sick. He fell on the
dikes."

"Hey? What?" cried the doctor, beginning to listen.

Hans told the whole story in an incoherent way, dashing off a tear once
or twice as he talked, and finally ending with an earnest "Oh, do see
him, mynheer. His body is well--it is only his mind. I know that this
money is not enough, but take it, mynheer. I will earn more, I know
I will. Oh! I will toil for you all my life, if you will but cure my
father!"

What was the matter with the old doctor? A brightness like sunlight
beamed from his face. His eyes were kind and moist; the hand that had
lately clutched his cane, as if preparing to strike, was laid gently
upon Hans's shoulder.

"Put up your money, boy, I do not want it. We will see your father. It's
hopeless, I fear. How long did you say?"

"Ten years, mynheer," sobbed Hans, radiant with sudden hope.

"Ah! a bad case, but I shall see him. Let me think. Today I start for
Leyden, to return in a week, then you may expect me. Where is it?"

"A mile south of Broek, mynheer, near the canal. It is only a poor,
broken-down hut. Any o