The bugle thrills through them again. With quivering eagerness they
spring forward, bending, but in perfect balance. Each flashing stroke
seems longer than the last.

Now they are skimming off in the distance.

Again the eager straining of eyes; again the shouts and cheering;
again the thrill of excitement, as after a few moments, four or five
in advance of the rest come speeding back, nearer, nearer to the white
columns.

Who is first? Not Rychie, Katrinka, Annie, nor Hilda, nor the girl in
yellow, but Gretel,--Gretel, the fleetest sprite of a girl that ever
skated. She was but playing in the earlier race: _now_ she is in
earnest, or rather, something within her has determined to win. That
blithe little form makes no effort; but it cannot stop,--not until the
goal is passed!

In vain the crier lifts his voice: he cannot be heard. He has no news
to tell: it is already ringing through the crowd,--_Gretel has won the
silver skates!_

Like a bird she has flown over the ice; like a bird she looks about
her in a timid, startled way. She longs to dart to the sheltered nook
where her father and mother stand. But Hans is beside her; the girls
are crowding round. Hilda's kind, joyous voice breathes in her ear.
From that hour none will despise her. Goose-girl or not, Gretel stands
acknowledged Queen of the Skaters.

With natural pride, Hans turns to see if Peter Van Holp is witnessing
his sister's triumph. Peter is not looking toward them at all. He is
kneeling, bending his troubled face low, and working hastily at his
skate-strap. Hans is beside him at once.

"Are you in trouble, mynheer?"

"Ah, Hans! that you? Yes; my fun is over. I tried to tighten my strap
to make a new hole, and this botheration of a knife has cut it nearly
in two."

"Mynheer," said Hans, at the same time pulling off a skate, "you must
use my strap!"

"Not I, indeed, Hans Brinker!" cried Peter, looking up; "though I
thank you warmly. Go to your post, my friend: the bugle will sound in
a minute."

"Mynheer," pleaded Hans in a husky voice, "you have called me your
friend. Take this strap--quick! There is not an instant to lose. I
shall not skate this time: indeed, I am out of practice. Mynheer, you
_must_ take it;" and Hans, blind and deaf to any remonstrance, slipped
his strap into Peter's skate, and implored him to put it on.

"Come, Peter!" cried Lambert from the line: "we are waiting for you."

"For Madame's sake," pleaded Hans, "be quic