ountry, whose name was
Hans. One day, he took his little brother out to play. They went a long
way out of the town, and came to where there were no houses, but ever so
many flowers and green fields. By-and-by, Hans climbed up on the dike, and
sat down; the little brother was playing about at the foot of the bank.

Suddenly the little brother called out, "Oh, what a funny little hole! It
bubbles!"

"Hole? Where?" said Hans.

"Here in the bank," said the little brother; "water's in it."

"What!" said Hans, and he slid down as fast as he could to where his
brother was playing.

There was the tiniest little hole in the bank. Just an air-hole. A drop of
water bubbled slowly through.

"It is a hole in the dike!" cried Hans. "What shall we do?"

He looked all round; not a person or a house in sight. He looked at the
hole; the little drops oozed steadily through; he knew that the water
would soon break a great gap, because that tiny hole gave it a chance. The
town was so far away--if they ran for help it would be too late; what
should he do? Once more he looked; the hole was larger, now, and the water
was trickling.

Suddenly a thought came to Hans. He stuck his little forefinger right into
the hole, where it fitted tight; and he said to his little brother, "Run,
Dieting! Go to the town and tell the men there's a hole in the dike. Tell
them I will keep it stopped till they get here."

The little brother knew by Hans' face that something very serious was the
matter, and he started for the town, as fast as his legs could run. Hans,
kneeling with his finger in the hole, watched him grow smaller and smaller
as he got farther away.

Soon he was as small as a chicken; then he was only a speck; then he was
out of sight. Hans was alone, his finger tight in the bank.

He could hear the water, slap, slap, slap, on the stones; and deep down
under the slapping was a gurgling, rumbling sound. It seemed very near.

By-and-by, his hand began to feel numb. He rubbed it with the other hand;
but it got colder and more numb, colder and more numb, every minute. He
looked to see if the men were coming; the road was bare as far as he could
see. Then the cold began creeping, creeping, up his arm; first his wrist,
then his arm to the elbow, then his arm to the shoulder; how cold it was!
And soon it began to ache. Ugly little cramp-pains streamed up his finger,
up his palm, up his arm, till they reached into his shoulder, and down the
bac