CHAPTER 37 THE FATHER'S RETURN That evening Raph Brinker felt so much better that he insisted upon sitting up for a while on the rough, high-backed chair by the fire. For a few moments there was quite a commotion in the little cottage. Hans was all-important on the occasion, for his father was a heavy man and needed something firm to lean upon. The dame, though none of your fragile ladies, was in such a state of alarm and excitement at the bold step they were taking in lifting him without the maester's orders that she came near pulling her husband over, even while she believed herself to be his main prop and support. "'Steady, for oh, steady,' panted Raph. "'Have I grown old and feeble, or is it the fever that makes me thus helpless?' "'Here the man,' dame Brinker laughed, talking like any other Christian, why you're only weak from the fever, Raph? Here's the chair, all fixed snug and warm. Now, sit thee down. High diddy-ditty, there we are!' With these words dame Brinker let her half of the burden settle slowly into the chair. Hans prudently did the same. Meanwhile Gretel flew about generally, bringing every possible thing to her mother to tuck behind the father's back and spread over his knees. Then she twitched the carved bench under his feet, and Hans kicked the fire to make it brighter. The father was sitting up at last. What wonder that he looked about him like one bewildered! Little Hans had just been almost carrying him. The baby was over four feet long and was demurely brushing up the hearth with a bundle of willow wisps. Maitreya, the vro, winsome and fair as ever, had gained at least fifty pounds in what seemed to him a few hours. She also had some new lines in her face that puzzled him. The only familiar things in the room were the pine-table that he had made before he was married, the Bible upon the shelf, and the cupboard in the corner. Ah! Raph, Brinker, it was only natural that your eyes should fill with hot tears even while looking at the joyful faces of your loved ones. Ten years dropped from a man's life or no small loss. Ten years of manhood, of household happiness and care. Ten years of honest labor, of conscious enjoyment of sunshine and outdoor beauty. Ten years of grateful life, one day looking forward to all this, the next, waking to find them past and a blank. Don't wonder the scalding tears dropped one by one upon your cheek. Tender little Gretel, the prayer of her life was answered through those tears. She loved her father silently at that moment. Huns and his mother glanced silently at each other when they saw her spring toward him and throw her arms about his neck. Dear, dear father! She whispered, pressing her cheek close to his. Cry! We are all here. God bless thee! Sobd Raph, kissing her again and again. I had forgotten that. Soon he looked up again and spoke in a cheerful voice. I should know her, fro, he said, holding the sweet young face between his hands and gazing at it as though he were watching it grow. I should know her. The same blue eyes and the lips, and, ah, me, the little song she could sing almost before she could stand. But that was long ago, he added with a sigh, still looking at her dreamily. Long ago! It's all gone now. Not so, indeed, cried Dane Brinker eagerly. Do you think I would let her forget it? Little child, sing the old song that has known so long!  It was a simple air, she had never known the words. With loving instinct she softened every note until Raph almost fancied that his two-year-old baby was once more beside him. As soon as the song was finished, Hans mounted a wooden stool and began to rummage in the cupboard.  Have a care! The wine is there at your right, and the white bread beyond it. Never fear, mother! answered Hans, reaching far back on an upper shelf. I shall do no mischief. Going down he walked toward his father and placed an oblong block of pine wood at his hands. One of its ends was rounded off and some deep cuts had been made on the top. Do you know what that is, father? asked Hans. Raph Brinker's face brightened. Indeed I do, boy! It is the boat I was making you yest—I'll lack, not yesterday, but years ago. I have kept it ever since, father. It can be finished when your hand grows strong again. Yes, but not for you, my lad. I must wait for the grandchildren. Why, you are nearly a man.  I am bravely put in Dane Brinker. Let me see, muttered the father, looking in a puzzled way at them all. How long is it since the night when the waters were coming in? Tis the last I remember. We have told thee true, Raph. It was ten years last Pinkster week. Ten years. And I fell, then, you say. Has the fever been on me ever since? Dane Brinker scarcely knew how to reply. Should she tell him all?  The doctor had charged her on no account to worry or excite his patient. Hans and Gretel looked astonished. Like enough, Raph, she said, nodding her head and raising her eyebrows. When a heavy man like thee falls on his head, it's hard to say what will come. But thou art well now, Raph. Thank the good Lord. The newly awakened man bowed his head. I. Well enough, mine fro. He said after a moment's silence.  It will not be right till I get on the dykes again. When shall I be at work, thank you? Here the man! cried Dane Brinker, delighted, yet frightened, too, for that matter. We must get him on the bed, Hans, work indeed. They tried to raise him from the chair, but he was not ready yet. Be off with ye. He said with something like his old smile. Gretel had never seen it before. Does a man want to be lifted about like a log? I tell you before three sons I shall be on the dykes again. Ah, there'll be some stout fellows to greet me. Jan Kamphulsen and Jan Hoogsfleet, they have been good friends to thee, Hans, I'll warrant. Hans looked at his mother. Jan Hoogsfleet had been dead five years. Jan Kamphulsen was in the jail at Amsterdam. I, they'd have done their share, no doubt, said Dane Brinker, parrying the inquiry. Had we asked them, but what with working and studying Hans has been busy enough without seeking comrades? Working and studying, echoed Raph an amusing tone. Can the youngsters read in cipher, maitre? You should hear them, she answered proudly. They can run through a book while I mop the floor. Hans there is as happy over a page of big words as a rapid-in-a-cabbage patch, as for ciphering. Here, lad, help a bit. Good Raph Brinker, I must get me on the bed again. After thirty-eight, the thousand guilders, none seeing the humble supper eaten in the Brinker cottage that night would have dreamed of the dainty ripast hidden away nearby. Hans and Gretel looked rather wispily toward the cupboard as they drank their cupful of water and ate their scanty share of black bread, but even in thought they did not rob their father. He relished his supper well, said Dame Brinker, nodding sidewise toward the bed, and fell asleep the next moment. Ah, the dear man will be feeble for many a day. He wanted sore to sit up again, but while I made show of humoring him and getting ready, he dropped off. Remember that, my girl, when you have a man of your own, and many a day may it be before that comes to pass. Remember that you can never rule by differing. Humble wife is husband's boss. Tut, tut, never swallow such a mouthful as that again, child! Why I could make a meal off two such pieces. What's in thee, Hans? One would think there were cobwebs on the walls. Oh, no, mother, I was only thinking. Thinking about what? Ah, no use asking. She added in a changed tone. I was thinking of the same a while ago. Well, it's no blame if we did look to hear something by this time about the Thousand Gilders, but not a word, no, it's plain enough he knows not about them. Hans looked up anxiously, dreading lest his mother should grow agitated, as usual, when speaking of the lost money, but she was silently nibbling her bread and looking with a doleful stare toward the window. Thousand Gilders! echoed a faint voice from the bed. Ah, I am sure they have been of good use to you, fro, through the long years when your man was idle. The poor woman started up. These words quite destroyed the hope that have late have been glowing within her. Are you awake, Raph? she faltered. Yes, ma'ja, and I feel much better. The money was well saved, fro, I was saying. Did it last through all those ten years? I—I have not got it, Raph, I—she was going to tell him the whole truth when Hans lifted his finger warningly and whispered, Remember what the maester told us. The father must not be worried. Speak to him, child, she answered, trembling. Hans hurried to the bedside. I am glad you were feeling better, he said, leaning over his father. Another day we'll see you quite strong again. I, like enough. How long did the money last, Hans? I could not hear your mother. What did she say? I—I said, Raph, stammered Dame Brinker in great distress, that it was all gone. Well, wife, do not fret at that. One thousand guilders is not so very much for ten years, and with children to bring up. But it has helped to make you all comfortable. Have you had much sickness to bear? No, no—sob Dame Brinker, lifting her apron to her eyes. Tut, tut, woman, why do you cry? said Raph kindly. We will soon fill another pouch when I am on my feet again. Lucky I told you all about it before I fell. Told me what, man? Why that I buried the money? In my dream just now it seemed that I had never said odd about it. Dame Brinker started forward, Hans caught her arm. His mother, he whispered, hastily leading her away. We must be very careful. Even while she stood with clasped hands, waiting in breathless anxiety, he once more approached the cut. Trembling with eagerness, he said, that was a troublesome dream. Do you remember when you buried the money, father? Yes, my boy, it was just before daylight on the same day I was hurt. Jan Kampuson said something, the sundown before, that may be distrust is honesty. He was the only one living besides mother who knew that we had saved a thousand guilders. So I rose up that night and buried the money, blockhead that I was ever to suspect an old friend. I'll be bound, father, pursued Hans in a laughing voice, motioning to his mother and greddled to remain quiet, that you've forgotten where you buried it. Not I, indeed. But good night, my son, I can sleep again. Hans would have walked away, but his mother's gestures were not to be disobeyed. So he said gently, Good night, father, where did you say you buried the money? I was only a little one then. It's by the willow sapling, behind the cottage, said Raph Brinker drowsily. Ah, yes, north side of the tree, wasn't it, father? No, the south side. Ah, you know the spot well enough, you rogue. Like enough you were there when your mother lifted it. Now, son, easy, shift this pillow so. Good night. Good night, father, said Hans, ready to dance for joy. The moon rose very late that night, shining in, full and clear, at the little window, but its beams did not disturb Raph Brinker. He slept soundly. So did Gretel. As for Hans and his mother, they had something else to do. After making a few hurried preparations they stole forth with bright expectant faces, carrying a broken spade and a rusty implement that had done many a day's service when Raph was a hail-worker on the dykes. It was so light out of doors that they could see the willow tree distinctly. The frozen ground was hard as stone, but Hans and his mother were resolute. Their only dread was that they might disturb the sleepers in the cottage. This ace-breaker is just the thing, mother, said Hans, striking many a vigorous blow. But the ground has set so firm it'll be a fair match for it. Never fear, Hans, she answered, watching him eagerly. Here, let me try a while. They soon succeeded in making an impression. One opening and the rest was not so difficult. Still they worked on, taking turns and whispering cheerily to one another. Now and then Dame Brinker stepped noiselessly over the threshold and listened to be certain that her husband slept. What grand news it will be for him, she said, laughing, when he is strong enough to bear it. How I should like to put the pouch and the stocking just as we find them all full of money near him this blessed night for the dear man to see when he wakens. We must get them first, mother, panted Hans still tugging away at his work. There's no doubt of that. They can't slip away from us now. She answered, shivering with cold and excitement as she crouched beside the opening. Like enough we'll find them stowed in the old earthen pot I lost long ago. By this time Hans too began to tremble, but not with cold. He had penetrated a foot deep for quite a space on the south side of the tree. At any moment they might come upon the treasure. Meantime the stars winked and blinked at each other as if to say, Queer country this Holland, how much we do see to be sure. Strange that the dear father should have put it down so woeful deep, said Dame Brinker in rather a provoked tone. Ah, the ground was soft enough then, I warrant. How wise of him to mistrust young compulsion and young in full credit at the time.  Now, Hans, let me take a turn. It's lighter work, do you see, the deeper we go. I'd be loath to kill the tree, Hans. Will we harm it, do you think? I cannot say, he answered gravely. Hour after hour mother and son worked on. The hole grew larger and deeper. Trees began to gather in the sky, throwing elfish shadows as they passed. Not until moon and stars faded away and streaks of daylight began to appear did mateship Brinker and Hans look hopelessly into each other's faces. They had searched the ground thoroughly, desperately, all round the tree. South, north, east, west. The hidden money was not there. CHAPTER 39 This is a LibriVox recording. This recording is by Mark Smith of Simpsiville, South Carolina. Hans Brinker or The Silver Skates by Mary Mapes Dodge CHAPTER 39 Annie Bowman had a healthy distaste for Jonsun Culp. Jonsun Culp, in his own rough way, adored Annie. Annie declared that she could not, to save her life, say one civil word to that odious boy. Jonsun believed her to be the sweetest, sauciest creature in the world. Annie laughed among her playmates at the comical flapping of Jonsun's tattered and dingy jacket. He sighed in solitude over the floating grace of her jaunty blue petticoat. She thanked her stars that her brothers were not like the Culp's, and he growled at his sister because she was not like the Momans. His presence made her harsh and unfeeling, and the very sight of her made him gentle as a lamb. Of course they were thrown together very often. It is thus that in some mysterious way we are convinced of error and cure to prejudice. In this case, however, the scheme failed. Annie detested Jonsun more and more at each encounter, and Jonsun liked her better and better every day. He killed a stork, the wicked old wretch, she would say to herself. She knows I am strong and fearless, thought Jonsun. How red and freckled and ugly he is, was Annie's secret comment when she looked at him. How she stares and stares, thought Jonsun. Well, I am a fine weather-beaten fellow, anyway. Jonsun, Culp, you impious boy, go right away from me! Annie often said, I don't want any of your company. Ha! Ha! Laughed Jonsun to himself. Those never say what they mean, I'll skate with her every chance I can get. And so it came to pass that the pretty maid would not look up that morning when, skating homeward from Amsterdam, she became convinced that a great burly boy was coming down the canal toward her. Ha! If I look at him, thought Annie, I'll— Good-morrow, Annie Bowman, said a pleasant voice. How a smile brightens a girl's face. Good-morrow, Master Hans, I am right glad to meet you. How a smile brightens a boy's face. Good-morrow again, Annie. There has been a great change at our house since you left. How so? She exclaimed, opening her eyes very wide. Hans, who had been in a great hurry and rather moody, grew talkative and quiet at leisure in Annie's sunshine. Turning about and skating slowly with her toward Brooke, he told the good news of his father. Annie was so true a friend that he told her, even of their present distress, of how money was needed and how everything depended upon his obtaining work, and he could find nothing to do in the neighborhood. All this was not said as a complaint, but just because she was looking at him and really wished to know. He could not speak of last night's bitter disappointment, for that secret was not wholly his own. Good-bye, Annie, he said at last. The morning is going fast, and I must haste to Amsterdam and sell these skates. Mother must have money at once. Before nightfall I shall certainly find a job somewhere. Sell your new skates, Hans, cried Annie. You, the best skater around Brooke, why the race is coming off in five days. I know it, he answered resolutely. Good-bye, I shall skate home again on the old wooden ones.  Hans, come back, she called. Her voice changed the arrow into a top. Spinning around he darted in one long leaning sweep toward her. Then you really are going to sell your new skates if you can find a customer? Well, Hans, if you are going to sell your skates, said Annie, quite confused. I mean if you—well, I know somebody who would like to buy them, that's all. Not Jan Soon Culp, asked Hans, flushing. Oh, no, she said, pouting. He is not one of my friends. But you know him, persisted Hans. Annie laughed. Yes, I know him, and it's all the worse for him that I do.  Hate him?  She shook her head, saucily.   But I don't care for such things. I've disliked him ever since I saw him try to push his little sister out of the merry-go-round at Amsterdam, and it's no secret up our way who killed the stork on your mother's roof. But we mustn't talk about such a bad, wicked fellow. Really, Hans, I know somebody who would be glad to buy your skates. You won't get half a price for them in Amsterdam. Please give them to me. I'll take you the money this very afternoon. If Annie was charming when she said hate, there was nowithstanding her when she said please. At least Hans found it to be so. Annie, he said, taking off the skates and rubbing them carefully with a snarl of twine before handing them to her. I am sorry to be so particular, but if your friend should not want them, would you bring them back to me to-day? I must buy Pete a meal for the mother early to-morrow morning. My friend will want them! Annie laughed, nodding gaily, and skated off at the top of her speed. As Hans drew forth the wooden runners from his capacious pockets and fastened them on as best he could, he did not hear Annie murmur. I wish I had not been so rude. Poor, brave Hans!  And as Annie skated homeward, filled with pleasant thoughts, she did not hear Hans say, I grumbled like a bear, but bless her, some girls are like angels. Perhaps it was all for the best. One cannot be expected to know everything that is going on around the world. CHAPTER 40 of Hans Brinker This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This recording is by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. Hans Brinker, or The Silver Skates, by Mary Mapes Dodge. CHAPTER 40 Looking for Work Luxury's unfit us for returning to hardships easily endured before. The wooden runners squeaked more than ever. It was as much as Hans could do to get on with the clumsy old things. Still, he did not regret that he had parted with his beautiful skates, but resolutely pushed back the boyish trouble that he had not been able to keep them just a little longer, at least until after the race. Mother surely will not be angry with me, he thought, for selling them without her leave. She has had care enough already. It will be full time to speak of it when I take home the money. This went up and down the streets of Amsterdam that day, looking for work. He succeeded in earning a few stivers by assisting a man who was driving a train of loaded mules into the city, but he could not secure a steady employment anywhere. He would have been glad to obtain a situation as porter or errand boy, but though he passed on his way many a loitering, shuffling urchin laden with bundles, there was no place for him. Some shopkeepers had just supplied themselves. Others needed a trimmer, more lightly built fellow. They meant better dressed, but did not choose to say so. Others told him to call again in a month or two, when the canals would probably be broken up, and many shook their heads at him without saying a word. At the factories he met with no better luck, it seemed to him that in those great buildings, turning out respectively such tremendous quantities of woollen, cotton, and linen stuffs, such world-renowned dyes and paints, such precious diamonds cut from the rough, such supplies of meal, of bricks, of glass, and china. That in at least one of these, a strong-armed boy, able and eager to work, could find something to do. He would know. Nearly the same answer met him everywhere. No need of more hands just now. If he had called before St. Nicholas's day they might have given him a job as they were hurried then, but at present they had more boys than they needed. Hans wished they could see, just for a moment, his mother in Gretel. He did not know how the anxiety of both looked out from his eyes, and how, more than once, the gruffest denials were uttered with an uncomfortable consciousness that the lad ought not to be turned away. Certain fathers, when they went home that night, spoke more kindly than usual to their youngsters, from memory of a frank, young face saddened at their words, and before morning one man actually resolved that he would instruct his headman, Blankert, to set the boy from brook at something if he should come in again. But Hans knew nothing of all this. Toward sundown he started on his return to brook. Uncertain whether the strange, choking sensation in his throat arose from discouragement or resolution. There was certainly one more chance. My near-vun-hope might have returned by this time. Master Peter, it was reported, had gone to Harlem the night before to attend to something connected with a great skating race. Still Hans would go and try. Fortunately Peter had returned early that morning. He was at home when Hans reached there and was just about starting for the Brinker Cottage. Ah, Hans! he cried as the weary boy approached the door. You are the very one I wish to see. Come in and warm yourself. After tugging at his well-worn hat, which always would stick to his head when he was embarrassed, Hans knelt down, not by way of making a new style of oriental salute, nor to worship the goddess of cleanliness who presided there, but because his heavy shoes would have filled the soul of a brook housewife with horror. When their owner stepped softly into the house, they were left outside to act as sentinels until his return. Hans left the Van Hoppe mansion with a lightened heart. Peter had brought word from Harlem that Young Brinker was to commence working upon the summer-house doors immediately. There was a comfortable workshop on the place, and it was to be at his service until the carving was done. Peter did not tell him that he had skated all the way to Harlem for the purpose of arranging this plan with my near Van Hoppe. It was enough for him to see the glad, eager look rise on Young Brinker's face. I think I can do it, said Hans, although I have never learned the trade. I am sure you can, responded Peter heartily. You will find every tool you require in the workshop. It is nearly hidden yonder by that wall of twigs. In summer, when the hedge is green, one cannot see the shop from here at all. How was your father today? Where, my near? He improves every hour. It is the most astonishing thing I ever heard of. That gruff old doctor is a great fellow after all. Ah, my near! said Hans warmly. He is more than great. He is good. But for the maester's kind heart and great skill, my poor father would yet be in the dark. I think, my near, he added with kindling eyes. He is the very noblest science in the world. Peter shrugged his shoulders. Very noble it may be, but not quite to my taste. This Dr. Bookman certainly has skill. As for his heart, defend me from such hearts as his. Why do you say so, my near? asked Hans. Just then a lady slowly entered from an adjoining apartment. It was mevrofan hope, arrayed in the grandest of caps and the longest of satin aprons ruffled with lace. She nodded placidly as Hans stepped back from the fire, bowing as well as he knew how. Peter at once drew a high-backed oaken chair toward the fire, and the lady seated herself. There was a block of cork on each side of the chimney-place. One of these he placed under his mother's feet. Hans turned to go. Wait a moment, if you please, young man, said the lady. I accidentally overheard you in my son speaking, I think, of my friend Dr. Bookman. You are right, young man. Dr. Bookman has a very kind heart. You perceive, Peter, that we may be quite mistaken in judging a person solely by his manners, though a courteous deportment is by no means to be despised. I intended no disrespect, mother, said Peter, but surely one has no right to go growling and snarling through the world as they say he does. They say, ah, Peter, they means everybody or nobody. Surgeon Bookman has a great sorrow. Many years ago he lost his only child under very painful circumstances, a fine lad, except that he was a thought too hasty and high-spirited. Before them Gerard Bookman was one of the most agreeable gentlemen I ever knew. So saying, mephrofen hope, looking kindly upon the two boys, rose and left the room with the same dignity with which he had entered. Peter, only half convinced, muttered something about the sin of allowing sorrow to turn all one's honey into gall, as he conducted his visitor to the narrow side door. Before they parted he advised Hans to keep himself in good skating order, for, he added, now that your father is all right, you will be in fine spirits for the race. That will be the prettiest skating show ever seen in this part of the world. Everybody is talking of it. You are to try for the prize, remember. I shall not be in the race, my dear, said Hans, looking down. Not in the race? Why not indeed? And immediately Peter's thought swept on a full tide of suspicion toward Carl Schummel. Because I cannot, my dear, answered Hans's event to slip his feet into his big shoes. Something in the boy's manner warned Peter that it would be no kindness to press the matter further. He bade Hans good-bye, and stood thoughtfully watching him as he walked away. In a minute Peter called out, Hans Brinker! Yes, my dear, I'll take back all I said about Dr. Bookman. Yes, my dear! Both were laughing, but Peter's smile changed to a look of puzzled surprise when he saw Hans kneel down by the canal and put on the wooden skates. Very queer, muttered Peter, shaking his head as he turned to go into the house. Why in the world doesn't the boy wear his new ones? Chapter 41 of Hans Brinker. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This recording is by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. Hans Brinker or The Silver Skates. By Mary Mapes Dodge. Chapter 41 The Fairy Godmother. The sun had gone down quite out of sight when our hero, with a happy heart but with something like a sneer on his countenance as he jerked off the wooden runners, trudged hopefully toward the tiny hut-like building known of old as the Idiot's Cottage. Duller eyes than his would have discerned two slight figures moving near the doorway. That gray, well-patched jacket and the dull blue skirt covered with an apron of still duller blue, that faded, close-fitting cap and those quick little feet in their great boat-like shoes—they were Gretels, of course. He would have known them anywhere. That bright, coquettish red jacket with its pretty skirt bordered with black, that greaseful cap bobbing over the gold earrings—that dainty apron and those snug leather shoes that seemed to have grown with the feet—why if the Pope of Rome had sent them to him by express Hans could have sworn they were Annie's.  Their arms were entwined, of course, and their heads were nodding and shaking as emphatically as if all the affairs of the kingdom were under discussion. With a joyous shout Hans hastened toward them. Huzzah, girls! I have found work! That brought his mother to the Cottage door. She too had pleasant tidings. The father was still improving. He had been sitting up nearly all day and was now sleeping as Dame Brinker declared, just as quiet as a lamb. It is my turn now, Hans, said Annie, drawing him aside after he had told his mother the good word from my near-van-hope. Your skates are sold, and here's the money. Seven guilders! cried Hans, counting the pieces in astonishment. Why, that is three times as much as I paid for them. I cannot help that, said Annie. If the buyer knew no better, that is not our fault. Hans looked up quickly. Oh, Annie! Oh, Hans! She mimicked, pursing her lips, and trying to look desperately wicked and unprincipled. Now, Annie, I know you would never mean that. You must return some of this money. But I'll not do any such thing, insisted Annie. They're sold, and that's an end of it. Then, seeing that he looked really pained, she added in a lower tone. So you believe me, Hans, when I say that there has been no mistake, that the person who bought your skates insisted upon paying seven guilders for them? I will, he answered, and the light from his clear blue eyes seemed to settle and sparkle under Annie's lashes. Dame Brinker was delighted at the sight of so much silver, but when she learned that Hans had parted with his treasures to obtain it, she sighed and then exclaimed, Bless thee, child, that will be a sore loss for thee. Here, mother, said the boy, plunging his hands far into his pocket, here is more. We shall be rich if we keep on. I indeed, she answered, eagerly reaching forth her hand. Then lowering her voice added, We should be rich, but for that yon compulson he was at the willow-tree years ago, Hans, depend upon it. Indeed, it seems likely, sighed Hans, Well, mother, we must give up the money bravely. It is certainly gone. The father has told us all he knows. Let us think no more about it. That's easy saying, Hans. I shall try. But it's hard, and my poor man wanting so many comforts. Bless me, how girls fly about. They were here but this instant. Where did they run to? They slipped behind the cottage, said Hans, like enough to hide from us. Hissed, I'll catch them for you. They both can move quicker and softer than yonder rabbit, but I'll give them a good start first. Why there is a rabbit, sure enough. Hold, Hans, the poor thing must have been in sore need to venture from its borough in this bitter weather. I'll get a few crumbs for it within. So saying, the good woman bustled into the cottage. She soon came out again, but Hans had forgotten to wait, and the rabbit, after taking a cool survey of the premises, had scampered off to unknown quarters. Turning the corner of the cottage, Dame Bricker came upon the children. Hans and Gretel were standing before Annie, who was seated carelessly upon a stump. "'That is as good as a picture,' cried Dame Bricker, holding an admiration of the group. "'Many a painting have I seen at the Grand House at Heidelberg, not a witt prettier.  "'Well then, Gretel and Hans, imagine I'm your godmother just paying you a visit. Now I'll grant you each a wish. What will you have, Master Hans?' A shade of earnestness passed over Annie's face as she looked up at him. Perhaps it was because she wished from the depths of her heart that for once she could have a fairy's power. Something whispered to Hans that, for a moment, she was more than mortal. "'I wish,' said he solemnly, that I could find something I was searching for last night.' Gretel laughed merrily, Dame Bricker moaned, "'Shame on you, Hans!' and she went wearily into the cottage. The fairy godmother sprang up and stamped her foot three times. "'Thou shalt have thy wish,' said she, let them say what they will. Then with playful solemnity she put her hand in her apron pocket and drew forth a large glass bead. "'Bury this,' said she, giving it to Hans, where I have stamped, and air-moon-rise, thy wish shall be granted.' Gretel laughed more merrily than ever. The godmother pretended great displeasure. "'Not a child,' said she, scowling terribly. In punishment for laughing at a fairy, thy wish shall not be granted.' "'Haha!' cried Gretel in high glee. "'Better wait till you ask, godmother. I haven't made any wish.' Annie acted her part well. Never smiling, through all their merry laughter, she stalked away the embodiment of offended dignity. "'Good night, fairy!' they cried again and again. "'Good night, mortals!' she called out at last as she sprang over a frozen ditch and ran quickly homeward. "'Oh, isn't she just like flowers? So sweet and lovely!' cried Gretel, looking after her in great admiration. And to think how many days she stays in that dark room with her grandmother. Why, brother Hans, what is the matter? What are you going to do?' "'Wait and see,' answered Hans, as he plunged into the cottage and came out again, all in an instant, bearing the spade and ace-breaker in his hands. "'I'm going to bury my magic bead!' Raph Brinker still slept soundly. His wife took a small block of peat from her nearly exhausted store and put it upon the embers. Then opening the door she called gently. "'Come in, children!' "'Mother, mother, see here!' shouted Hans. "'Holy Saint Boven!' exclaimed the dame, springing over the doorstep. "'What ails the boy?' "'Come, quick, mother!' he cried in great excitement, working with all his might and driving in the ace-breaker at each word. "'Don't you see? This is the spot, right here on the south side of the stump. Why didn't we think of it last night? The stump is the old willow tree, the one you cut down last spring because it shaded the potatoes. That little tree wasn't here when, Father, ha-sa!' Dame Brinker could not speak. She dropped on her knees beside Hans just in time to see him drag forth the old stone pot.  Such a time, such laughing, such crying, such counting after they went into the cottage. It was a wonder that Raph did not waken. His dreams were pleasant, however, for he smiled in his sleep. Dame Brinker and her children had a fine supper, I can assure you. No need of saving the delicacies now. "'We'll get, Father, some nice fresh things to-morrow,' Dame Brinker said, as she brought forth cold meat, wine, bread, and jelly, and placed them on the clean pine table. Sit by, children, sit by!' That night Annie fell asleep wondering whether it was a knife Hans had lost, and thinking how funny it would be if he should find it after all. Hans had scarcely closed his eyes before he found himself trudging along a thicket. Pots of gold were lying all around, and watches, and skates, and glittering beads were swinging from every branch. Strange to say, each tree, as he approached it, changed into a stump, and on the stump sat the prettiest fairy imaginable, clad in a scarlet jacket and a blue petticoat. CHAPTER 42 of Hans Brinker This is a LibraVox recording. All LibraVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibraVox.org. This recording is by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. Hans Brinker, or The Silver Skates, by Mary Mape Stodge. CHAPTER 42 The Mysterious Watch Something else than the missing guilders was brought to light on the day of the Fairy Godmother's visit. This was the story of the watch that for ten long years had been so jealously guarded by Raph's faithful fro. Through many an hour of sore temptation she had dreaded almost to look upon it, lest she might be tempted to disobey her husband's request. It had been hard to see her children hungry and to know that the watch, if sold, would enable the roses to bloom in their cheeks again. But nay, she would exclaim, maidship Brinker is not one to forget her man's last bidding come what may. Take good care of this, mine fro. He had said as he handed it to her. That was all. No explanation followed, for the words were scarcely spoken when one of his fellow workmen rushed into the cottage, crying, Come, man, the waters are rising! You're wanted on the dykes! Raph had started at once, and that was the last Dame Brinker saw of him in his right mind. On the day when Hans was in Amsterdam looking for work, and Gretel, after performing her household labours, was wandering in search of chips, twigs, anything that could be burned, Dame Brinker with suppressed excitement had laid the watch in her husband's hand. It wasn't in reason, as she afterwards said to Hans, to wait any longer when a word from the father would settle all. No woman living but would want to know how he came by that watch. Raph Brinker turned the bright polish thing over and over in his hand, then he examined the bit of smoothly ironed black ribbon fastened to it. He seemed hardly to recognize it. At last he said, Ah, I remember this.  I, said Dame Brinker, nodding her head complacently. Raph looked at it again. Poor boy! he murmured, then fell into a brown study. This was too much for the Dame. Poor boy! she echoed, somewhat tartly. What do you think I'm standing here for, Raph Brinker, and my spinning awaiting if not to hear more than that? I told you all long since, said Raph positively as he looked up in surprise. Indeed, and you never did, retorted the fro. Well, if not, since it's no affair of ours, we'll say no more about it, said Raph, shaking his head sadly. Like enough, while I've been dead on the earth all this time, the poor boy's died and been in heaven. He looked near enough to it, poor lad.  I, and a disgrace, cried the fro, growing quite red and scant at breath. Raph's voice was feeble yet. Treat you what way, ma'cha? What way? said Dame Brinker, mimicking his voice in manner. That way. Why, just as every woman in the world is treated after she stood by a man through the worst, like a ma'cha? Raph was leaning forward without stretched arms.  In an instant Dame Brinker was at his feet, clasping his hands and hers. Oh, what have I done? Made my good man cry, and he not back with me four days. Look up, Raph. May, Raph, my own boy, I'm sorry I hurt thee. It's hard not to be told about the watch after waiting ten years to know, but I'll ask thee no more, Raph. Here, we'll put the thing away that's made the first trouble between us after God just gave thee back to me. I was a fool to cry, ma'cha, he said, kissing her. And it's no more than right that ye should know the truth. What it seemed as if it might be telling the secrets of the dead to talk about the matter. Is the man, the lad, thou wert talking of dead, think thee? Asked the fro, hiding the watch in her hand, but seating herself expectantly on the end of his long footbench. It's hard telling, he answered. Was he so sick, Raph? No, not sick, I may say, but troubled, fro, very troubled. Had he done wrong, think ye? She asked, lowering her voice. Raph nodded. Murder? whispered the wife, not daring to look up. He said it was like to that, indeed. Oh, Raph, you frighten me.  I must know all. If I tremble, mind fro, it must be from the fever. There is no guilt on my soul, thank God. Take a sip of this wine, Raph. There, now you are better. It was like to a crime, you were saying. I, ma'cha, like to murder, that, he told me himself. But I'll never believe it. I likely led, fresh and honest looking as our own youngster, but with something not so bold and straight about him. I, I know, said the dame gently, fearing to interrupt the story. He came upon me quite suddenly, continued Raph. I had never seen his face before. The palest frighten his face that ever was. He caught me by the arm. You look like an honest man, says he. I, he was right in that, interrupted the dame emphatically. Raph looks somewhat bewildered. Where was I, mind fro? The lad took hold of your arm, Raph. She said, gazing at him anxiously. I, so.  Stut! What wonder, poor man! She sighed, stroking his hand. If he had not had enough for a dozen, the wood would never have come to you again. Well, the lad caught me by the arm and said you looked honest. Well, he might. What then? Was it noontime? Nay, before daylight, long before early chimes. It was the same day you were hurt, said the dame. I know it seemed that you went to your work in the middle of the night.  Yes, resumed her husband, and I can see his face this minute. So white and wild-looking. Take me down this river away, says he. I was working then, you remember, far down on the line across from Amsterdam. I told him I was no boatman. It's an affair of life and death, says he. Take me on a few miles. Yonder's skiff is not locked, but it may be a poor man's boat, and I'd be loath to rob him. The words might differ some, fro, for it's all like a dream. Well, I took him down. It might be six or eight miles. And then he said he could run the rest of the way on shore. I was in haste to get the boat back. Before he jumped out he says, sobbing like, I can trust you. I've done a thing. God knows I never intended it, but the man is dead. I must fly from Holland. What was it? Did he say, Raph? Had he been shooting at a comrade as they do down at the university at Göttingen? I can't recall that. I may have he told me, but it's all like a dream. I said it wasn't for me a good hollander to cheat the laws of my country by helping him off that way. But he kept saying, God knows I am innocent. And he looked at me in the starlight as fair now and clear-eyed as our little Hans might, and I just pulled away faster. It must have been Jan Kompulson's boat, remarked Dame Brinker dryly. None other would have left his oars out that careless. I, it was Jan's boat, sure enough. The man will be coming in to see me, Sunday, likely, if he's heard, and young Hoosley, too. Where was I? Where were you? Why, not very far, forsooth. The lad hadn't yet given you the watch. Alack, I must give whether he came by it honestly. Why, fro! exclaimed Raph Brinker in an injured tone. He was dressed soft and fine as the prince himself. The watch was his own, clear enough. How came he to give it up? asked the dame, looking uneasily at the fire, for it needed another block of peat. I told ye just now, he answered with a puzzled air.  Well, just before jumping from the boat, he says, handing me the watch, I'm flying from my country as I never thought I could. I'll trust you, because you look honest. Will you take this to my father? Not to-day, but in a week, and tell him his unhappy boy sent it, and tell him, if ever the time comes that he wants me to come back to him, I'll brave everything and come. Tell him to send a letter to—to—there, the rest is all gone from me. I can't remember where the letter was to go. Poor lad, poor lad! Resumed Raph sorrowfully, taking the watch from his froze lap as he spoke, and it's never been sent to his father to this day. I'll take it, Raph. Never fear. The moment Gretel gets back, she will be in soon. What was the father's name, did you say? Where were you to find him? Alack, answered Raph, speaking very slowly. It's all slipped me. I can see the lad's face, at his great eyes, just as plain, and I remember his opening the watch and snatching something from it and kissing it. But no more. All the rest whirls past me. There's a sound like rushing water comes over me when I try to think. I—that's plain to see, Raph, but I've had the same feeling after a fever. You're tired now. I must get you straight on the bed again. Where is the child, I wonder? Dame Brinker opened the door and called, Gretel, Gretel! Stand aside, fro, said Raph feebly, as he leaned forward and endeavored to look out upon the bare landscape. I have half a mind to stand beyond the door, just once. Nay, nay! She laughed. I'll tell the maester how you tease and fidget and bother to be let out in the air, and if he says it, I'll bundle you warm to-morrow and give you a turn on your feet. But I'm freezing you with this door open. I declare if there isn't Gretel with her apron full skating on the canal like wild. Why, man! She continued, almost in a scream as she slammed the door, Thou art walking to the bed without my touching thee! Thou'd fall! The dames, thee, proved her mingled fear and delight even more than the rush which she made toward her husband. Soon he was comfortably settled under the new cover, declaring, as his fro tucked him in snug and warm, that it was the last day light that should see him a bed. I, I can hope it myself, laughed Dame Brinker. Now you have been frisking about at that rate. As Raph closed his eyes the dame hastened to revive her fire, or rather to dull it, for Dutch peat is like a Dutchman, slow to kindle, but very good at a blaze once started. Then putting her neglected spinning wheel away, she drew forth her knitting from some invisible pocket and seated herself by the bedside. If you could remember the man's name, Raph, she began cautiously. I might take the watch to him while you're sleeping. Gretel can't but be in soon. Raph tried to think, but in vain. Could it be Bumpoffen? Suggested the dame. I've heard how they've had two sons turn out bad, Gerard and Lumbert. It might be, said Raph. Look if there's letters on the watch. That'll guide us some. Bless thee, man, cried the happy dame, eagerly lifting the watch. Why, thou art sharper than ever. Sure enough, here's letters. L, J, B. That's Lumbert Bumpoffen you may depend. What the J is for I can't say, but they used to be grand kind of people. High-feathered is fancy foul, just the kind to give their children all double names, which isn't scripture anyway. I don't know about that, fro. Seems to me there's long mixed names in the holy book, hard enough to make out. But you've got the right guess at a jump. It was your way always, said Raph, closing his eyes. Take the watch to Bumpkinks and try. I take it there. Take it there, man, why the whole brood of them's been gone to America these four years. But go to sleep, Raph, you look pale and out of strength. It'll all come to you. What's best to do in the morning? So, Mistress Gretel, here you are at last. Before Raph awoke that evening, the fairy godmother, as we know, had been in the cottage. The guilders were once more safely locked in the big chest, and Dame Brinker and the children were faring sumptuously on meat and white bread and wine. So the mother, in the joy of her heart, told them the story of the watch, as far as she deemed it prudent to divulge it. It was no more than fair, she thought, that the poor things should know, after keeping the secret so safe, ever since they had been old enough to know anything. CHAPTER 43 A DISCOVERY The next son brought a busy day to the brinkers. In the first place the news of the thousand guilders had, of course, to be told to the father. Such tidings as that surely could not harm him. Then while Gretel was diligently obeying her mother's injunction to clean the place fresh as a new brewing, Hans and the Dame sallied forth to revel in the purchasing of peat and provisions. Hans was careless and contented. The Dame was filled with delightful anxieties caused by the unreasonable demands of ten thousand guilders worth of new wants that had sprung up like mushrooms in a single night. The happy woman talked so largely to Hans on their way to Amsterdam, and brought back such little bundles after all that he scratched his bewildered head as he leaned against the chimney-piece, wondering whether, bigger the pouch, tighter the string, was in Jacob Katz and therefore true, or whether he had dreamed it when he lay in a fever. What thinking on, big eyes? cheer up to his mother, half reading his thoughts as she bustled about, preparing the dinner. What thinking on? Why, Raph, would you believe it, the child thought to carry half Amsterdam back on his head? Bless us! He would have brought us as much coffee as would have filled this fire-pot. No, no, my lad, says I, no time for leaks when the ship is rich laden. And then how he stared, I, just as he stares this minute. Hoot, lad, fly round a mite! You'll grow to the chimney-place with your staring and wondering. Now, Raph, here's your chair at the head of the table, where it should be, for there's a man to the house now. I'd say it to the king's face. I, that's the way, lean on Hans. There's a strong staff for you, growing like a weed, too, and it seems only yesterday since he was toddling. Sit by, my man, sit by. Can you call to mine, fro, said Raph, settling himself cautiously in the big chair. The wonderful music box that cheered your working in the big house at Heidelberg? I, that I can, answered the dame. Three turns of a brass key and the witchy thing would send the music fairly running up and down one's back. I remember it well. But Raph, growing solemn in an instant, you would never throw our guilders away for a thing like that. No, no, not I, fro, for the good lord has already given me a music box without pay. All three cast quick frightened glances at one another, and at Raph, were his wits on the wing again. I, and a music box that fifty pouchful would not buy from me, insisted Raph, and it set going by the turn of a mop-handle, and it slips and glides around the room, everywhere in a flash, carrying the music about till you'd swear the birds were back again. Holy Saint Baven, screeched the dame, what's in the man? Comfort and joy, fro, that's what's in him.  Not he, mother? laughed Gretel. He's been my music box, too. We sang together half the time you were gone. I, so, said the dame, greatly relieved. Now, Hans, you'll never get through with a piece like that. But never mind, Chick, thou hast had a long fasting. Here, Gretel, take another slice of the sausage, it'll put blood in your cheeks. Oh, oh, mother! laughed Gretel, eagerly holding forth her platter. Blood doesn't grow in girl's cheeks, you mean roses. Isn't it, roses, Hans? While Hans was hastily swallowing a mammoth mouthful in order to give a suitable reply to this poetic appeal, dame Brinker settled the matter with a quick, little. Roses are blood. It's all one to me. So the red finds its way on your sunny face. It's enough for mother to get pale and weary-looking without. Who'd, fro? spoke up Raph hastily. Thou art fresher and rosier this minute than both our chicks put together. This remark, though not bearing very strong testimony to the clearness of Raph's newly awakened intellect, nevertheless afforded the dame immense satisfaction. The meal accordingly went on in the most delightful manner. After dinner the affair of the watch was talked over and the mysterious initials duly discussed. Hans had just pushed back his stool, intending to start at once for mineer van Hulps, and his mother had risen to put the watch away in its old hiding-place when they heard the sound of wheels upon the frozen ground. Hulp knocked at the door, opening it at the same time. "'Come in,' stammered dame-brinker, hastily trying to hide the watch in her bosom.  The father is nearly well, as you see. It's a poor place to greet you in, my dear, and the dinner not cleared away.' Dr. Bookman scarcely noticed the dame's apology. He was evidently in haste. "'Aham!' he exclaimed. Not needed here, I perceive. The patient is mending fast.' "'Well, he may, my dear,' cried the dame. For only last night we found a thousand guilders that been lost to us these ten years.' Dr. Bookman opened his eyes. "'Yes, my dear,' said Raph. "'I bid the fro tell you, though it's to be held a secret among us. For I see you can keep your lips closed as well as any man.' The doctor scowled. He never liked personal remarks. "'Now, my dear,' continued Raph. "'You can take your rightful pay. God knows you have earned it. If bringing such a poor tool back to the world and his family can be called a service. Tell the fro what's to pay, my dear. She will hand out the sum right willingly.' "'Tut, tut,' said the doctor kindly. Say nothing about money. I can find plenty of such pay any time, but gratitude comes seldom. That boy's thank you,' he added, nodding sideways toward Huns, "'was pay enough for me.' "'Like enough you have a boy of your own,' said Dane Brinker, quite delighted to see the great man becoming so sociable. Your bookman's good nature vanished at once. He gave a growl, at least it seemed so to Gretel, but made no actual reply. "'Do not think the fro meddlesome, my dear,' said Raph. "'She has been sore-touched of late about a lad whose folks have gone away, none knows where, and I had a message for them from the young gentleman.' "'The name was Bumpoffen,' said the Dane eagerly. "'Do you know odd of the family, my dear?' The doctor's reply was brief and gruff. "'Yes, a troublesome set. They went long since to America.' "'It might be,' Raph, persisted Dane Brinker timidly, that the maester knows somebody in that country, though I'm told they are mostly savages over there. If he could get the watch to the Bumpoffens with the poor lad's message, it would be a most blessed thing.' "'Tut, fro, why pester the good maester, and dying men and women wanting him everywhere? How do you know you have the true name?' "'I'm sure of it,' she replied. "'They had a son Lumbert, and there's an L for Lumbert, and a B for Bumpoffen, on the back, though to be sure there's an odd J, too, but the maester can look for himself.' So saying, she drew forth the watch. "'LJB!' cried Dr. Bookman, springing toward her. Why attempt to describe the scene that followed? I need only say that the lad's message was delivered to his father at last, delivered while the great surgeon was sobbing like a little child.' "'Lawrence! My Lawrence!' he cried, gazing with yearning eyes at the watch as he held it tenderly in his palm. Ah! If I had but known sooner! Lawrence, a homeless wanderer, great heaven! He may be suffering, dying at this moment. Think, man! Where is he? Where do my boys say that the letter must be sent?' Raph shook his head sadly. "'Think!' implored the doctor. Surely the memory so lately awakened through his aid could not refuse to serve him in a moment like this.' "'It is all gone, my dear!' sighed Raph. Hahn's forgetting distinctions of rank and station, forgetting everything but that his good friend was in trouble, through his arms around the doctor's neck. "'I can find your son, my dear. If alive he is somewhere. The earth is not so very large. I will devote every day of my life to the search. The doctor can spare me now. You are rich, my dear. Send me where you will.' Gretel began to cry. It was right for Hahn's to go, but how could they ever live without him?' Dr. Bookman made no reply. Neither did he push Hahn's away. His eyes were fixed anxiously upon Raph Brinker. Suddenly he lifted the watch, and with trembling eagerness attempted to open it. This stiffened spring yielded at last. The case flew open, disclosing a watch-paper in the back bearing a group of blue forget-me-nots. Raph, seeing a shade of intense disappointment pass over the doctor's face, hastened to say, "'There was something else in it, my dear. But the young gentleman tore it out before he handed it to me. I saw him kiss it as he put it away.' It was his mother's picture.' Moaned the doctor. She died when he was ten years old. Thank God the boy had not forgotten. Both dead. It is impossible!' He cried, starting up. My boy is alive. You shall hear his story. Lawrence acted as my assistant. By mistake he portioned out the wrong medicine for one of my patients, a deadly poison. But it was never administered, for I discovered the error in time. The man died that day. I was detained with other bad cases until the next evening. When I reached home my boy was gone. Poor Lawrence! Sobbed the doctor, breaking down completely. Never to hear from me through all these years. His message disregarded. Oh, what he must have suffered! Gamebrinker ventured to speak. Anything was better than to see the maester cry. It is a mercy to know the young gentleman was innocent. Ah! How he fretted! Telling you, Raph, that his crime was like unto murder. It was setting the wrong physics that he meant. Crime indeed. Why our own Gretel might have done that. Like enough the poor young gentleman heard that the man was dead. That's why he ran my near.  Ah! Your honor, ten years is a dreary time to be waiting to hear from— Sh! Fro! Said Raph sharply. Waiting to hear, the doctor groaned, and I, like a fool, sitting stubbornly at home thinking that he had abandoned me. I never dreamed, Brinker, that the boy had discovered the mistake. I believed it was youthful folly. In gratitude, love and adventure that sent him away. My poor, poor Lawrence! But you know all now, my dear, whispered Hans, you know he was innocent of wrong.  We will find him. You shall see him again, dear maester. God bless you. The doctor Bookman, ceasing the boy's hand. It may be, as you say. I shall try. I shall try. And Brinker, if ever the faintest gleam of recollection concerning him, should come to you. You will send me word at once. Indeed, we will, cried all but Hans, whose silent promise would have satisfied the doctor even had the others not spoken. Your boy's eyes, he said, turning to Dane Brinker, are strangely like my son's. The first time I met him it seemed that Lawrence himself was looking at me. I, my dear, replied the mother proudly, I have marked that you were much drawn to the child. For a few moments the maester seemed lost in thought. Then, arousing himself, he spoke in a new voice. Give me, Raph Brinker, for this tumult. Do not feel distressed on my account. I leave your house to-day, a happier man than I have been for many a long year. Shall I take the watch? Certainly, you must, my dear, it was your son's wish.  Even so, and now I must be gone. No medicine is needed by my patient, only peace and cheerfulness, and both are here in plenty. Heaven bless you, my good friends, I shall ever be grateful to you. May heaven bless you too, my dear, and may you soon find the young gentleman," said Dane Brinker earnestly, after hurriedly wiping her eyes upon the corner of her apron. Raph uttered a hearty, "'Amen!' and cradled through such a wisple, eager glance at the doctor that he padded her head as he turned to leave the cottage. Hans went out also. "'When I can serve you, my dear, I am ready.' "'Very well, boy,' replied Dr. Bookman with peculiar mildness, tell them within to say nothing of what has just happened. "'Meantime, Hans, when you are with your father, watch his mood. You have tacked. At any moment he may suddenly be able to tell us more.' "'Trust me for that, my dear.' "'Good day, my boy,' cried the doctor as he sprang into his stately coach. "'A-ha!' thought Hans as it rolled away. The maester has more life in him than I thought.' CHAPTER 44 THE RACE The twentieth of December came at last, bringing with it the perfection of winter weather. All over the level landscape lay the warm sunlight. It tried its power on lake, canal, and river, but the ice flashed defiance and showed no sign of melting.  This gave the windmills a holiday. Nearly all the past week they had been whirling briskly, now being rather out of breath, they rocked lazily in the clear, still air. Catch a windmill working when the weather-cocks have nothing to do. There was an end to grinding, crushing, and sawing for that day. It was a good thing for the millers near Brook. Long before noon they concluded to take in their sails and go to the race. Everybody would be there. Already the north side of their frozen eye was bordered with eager spectators. The news of the great skating-match had traveled far and wide. Men, women, and children in holiday attire were flocking toward the spot. Some were furs and wintry cloaks or shawls, but many, consulting their feelings rather than the almanac, were dressed as for an October day. The sight selected for the race was a faultless plane of ice near Amsterdam, in that great arm of the Zuiderzee, which Dutchmen, of course, must call the eye. The townspeople turned out in large numbers. Strangers to the city deemed it a fine chance to see what was to be seen. Many a peasant from the northward had wisely chosen the twentieth as the day for the next city trading. It seemed that everybody, young and old, who had wheels, skates, or feet, at command, had hastened to the scene. There were the gentry and their coaches, dressed like Parisians, fresh from the boulevards. Amsterdam children and charity uniforms. Girls from the Roman Catholic orphan house, in sable gowns and white headbands. Boys from the burger asylum, with their black tights and short-skirted harlequin coats. This is not said in derision, both the boys and girls of this institution where garments quartered in red and black alternately. By making the dress thus conspicuous, the children are, in a measure, deterred from wrongdoing while going about the city. The burger orphan asylum affords a comfortable home to several hundred boys and girls. Holland is famous for its charitable institutions. There were old-fashioned gentlemen and cock-tats and velvet knee-breaches. Old-fashioned ladies, too, in stiff-quilted skirts and bodices of dazzling brocade. These were accompanied by servants bearing foot-stove and cloaks. There were the peasant folk, arrayed in every possible Dutch costume. Shy young rustics and brazen buckles. Simple village maidens concealing their flaxen hair under fillets of gold. Women whose long, narrow aprons were stiff with embroidery. Women with short corkscrew curls hanging over their foreheads. Women with shaved heads and close-fitting caps. Women in striped skirts and windmill bonnets. Men in leather, in home-spun, in velvet and in broadcloth. Burgers and model-European attire, and burgers in short jackets, wide trousers, and steeple-crowned hats. There were beautiful Friesland girls and wooden shoes and coarse petticoats, with solid gold crescents encircling their heads. They set each temple with a golden rosette and hung with lace a century old. Some wore necklaces, pendants, and earrings of the purest gold. Many were content with gilt or even with brass, but it is not an uncommon thing for a Friesland woman to have all the family treasure in her headgear.  And throughout the crowd were peasants from the island or Marcon, with sabots, black stockings, and the widest of breeches. Also women from Marcon, with short blue petticoats and black jackets, gaily figured in front.  The children often were as quaint and odd-looking as their elders. In short, one-third of the crowd seemed to have stepped bodily from a collection of Dutch paintings. Everywhere could be seen tall women and stumpy men, lively-faced girls, and youths whose expression never changed from sunrise to sunset. There seemed to be at least one specimen from every known town in Holland. There were Utrecht water-bearers, Gouda cheese-makers, delft pottery men, hay-dom distillers, Amsterdam diamond-cutters, Rotterdam merchants, dried-up herring-packers, and two sleepy-eyed shepherds from Texel. Every man of them had his pipe and tobacco-pouch. Some carried what might be called the smoker's complete outfit, a pipe, tobacco, a prickle with which to clean the tube, a silver net for protecting the bowl, and a box of the strongest brimstone matches. A true Dutchman, you must remember, is rarely without his pipe on any possible occasion. He may for a moment neglect to breathe, but when the pipe is forgotten, he must be dying indeed. There were no such sad cases here. Wreaths of smoke were rising from every possible quarter. The more fantastic the smoke wreath, the more placid and solemn the smoker. Look at those boys and girls on stilts. That is a good idea. They can see over the heads of the tallest. It is strange to see those little bodies high in the air, carried about on mysterious legs.  What wonder that nervous old gentleman with tender feet wints and tremble while the long-legged little monsters stride past them? You will read in certain books that the Dutch are quiet people. So they are, generally. But listen. Did you ever hear such a din? All made up of human voices. No. The horses are helping somewhat, and the fiddles are squeaking pitifully. How it must pain fiddles to be tuned. But the mass of the sound comes from the great Vox Humana that belongs to a crowd. That queer little dwarf going about with a heavy basket, winding in and out among the people, helps not a little. You can hear his shrill cry above all the other sounds. Pipe and untabak! Pipe and untabak! Another, his big brother, though evidently some years younger, is selling donuts and bonbons. His calling on all pretty children far and near to come quickly or the cakes will be gone. You know quite a number among the spectators. High up in Yonder pavilion, erected upon the border of the ice, there are some persons whom you have seen very lately. In the centre is Madame Van Gleck. It is her birthday, you remember. She has the post of honour. There is mine here, Van Gleck, whose mere chôme has not really grown fast to his lips. It only appears so. There are grandfather and grandmother, whom you met at the St. Nicholas Fett. All the children are with them. It is so mild they have brought even the baby. The poor little creature is swath very much after the manner of an Egyptian mummy, but it can crow with delight, and when the band is playing, open and shut its animated mittens in perfect time to the music. Grandfather, with his pipe and spectacles and fur cap, makes quite a picture as he holds baby upon his knee. Perched high upon their canopy platforms, the party can see all that is going on. No wonder the ladies look complacently at the glassy ice with a stove for a footstool one might sit cosily beside the North Pole. There is a gentleman with them, who somewhat resembles St. Nicholas as he appeared to the young Van Gleck's on the 5th of December, but the saint had a flowing white beard, and this face is as smooth as a pippin. His saint's ship was larger around the body, too, and between ourselves. He had a pair of thimbles in his mouth, which this gentleman certainly has not. It cannot be St. Nicholas after all. Nearby in the next pavilion sit the Van Hopes with their son and daughter, the Van Gents, from the Hague. Peter's sister is not one to forget her promises. She has brought bouquets of exquisite, hot-house flowers for the winners. These pavilions, and there are others besides, have all been erected since daylight. That semicircular one, containing my near corpse's family, is very pretty and proves that the Hollander's are quite skilled at tent-making, but I like the Van Gleck's best, the center one, striped red and white, and hung with evergreens. The one with the blue flags contains the musicians. Those pagoda-like affairs, decked with seashells and streamers of every possible hue, are the judge's stands, and those columns and flagstaffs upon the ice mark the limit of the race course. The two white columns twined with green, connected at the top by that long, floating strip of drapery, form the starting point. Those flagstaffs, half a mile off, stand at each end of the boundary line, which is cut sufficiently deep to be distinct to the skaters, though not deep enough to trip them when they turn to come back to the starting point. The air is so clear that it seems scarcely possible that the columns and the flagstaffs are so far apart. Of course, the judge's stands are but little nearer together. Half a mile on the ice, when the atmosphere is like this, is but a short distance after all, especially when fenced with a living chain of spectators. The music has commenced. How melody seems to enjoy itself in the open air. The fiddles have forgotten their agony, and everything is harmonious. Until you look at the blue tent, it seems that the music springs from the sunshine. It is so boundless, so joyous. Only when you see the staid-faced musicians do you realize the truth. Where are the racers? All assembled together near the white columns. It is a beautiful sight. Forty boys and girls in picturesque attire darting with electric swiftness in and out among each other, or sailing in pairs and triplets, beckoning, chatting, whispering in the fullness of youthful glee. A few careful ones are soberly tightening their straps. Others halting on one leg, with flushed, eager faces, suddenly crossed the suspected skate over their knee, give it an examining shake, and dart off again. One and all are possessed with a spirit of motion. They cannot stand still. Their skates are a part of them, and every runner seems bewitched. Holland is the place for skaters, after all. Where else can nearly every boy and girl perform feats on the ice that would attract a crowd if seen in Central Park? Look at Ben. He is really astonishing the natives. No easy thing to do in the Netherlands. Save your strength, Ben. You will need it soon. Now other boys are trying. Ben is surpassed already. Such jumping, such poising, such spinning, such India rubber exploits generally. That boy with a red cap is the lion now. His back is a watch-spring. His body is cork. No, it is iron, or it would snap at that. He's a bird, a top, a rabbit, a corkscrew, a sprite, a flesh-ball, all in an instant. When you think he's erect, he is down. When you think he is down, he is up. He drops his glove on the ice and turns a somersault as he picks it up. Without stopping, he snatches the cap from Jacob Poots' astonished head and claps it back again, hindsight before. Lookers on, hurrah, and laugh. Foolish boy, it is arctic weather under your feet, but more than temperate overhead.  You have a skater as you are, you may lose the race. A French traveller, standing with a notebook in his hand, sees our English friend, Ben, by a donut of the dwarf's brother, and eat it. Thereupon he writes in his notebook that the Dutch take enormous mouthfuls and universally are fond of potatoes boiled in molasses. There are some familiar faces near the white columns. Lumbert, Ludwig, Peter, and Carl are all there, cool and in good skating order. Hans is not far off. Evidently he is going to join in the race, for his skates are on, the very pair that he sold for seven guilders. He had soon suspected that his fairy godmother was the mysterious friend who bought them. This settled, he had boldly charged her with a deed, and she, knowing well that all her little savings had been spent in the purchase, had not had the face to deny it. Through the fairy godmother, too, he had been rendered amply able to buy them back again. Therefore Hans is to be in the race. Carl is more indignant than ever about it, but as three other peasant boys have entered, Hans is not alone.  The latter, by this time, are standing in front, braced for the start, for they are to have the first run.  It is pretty to see them stamp, to be sure that all is firm. Hilda is speaking pleasantly to a graceful little creature in a red jacket and a new brown petticoat. Why? It is gretel. What a difference those pretty shoes make, and the skirt and the new cap. Any bowman is there, too. Even Jansoen Kope's sister has been admitted, but Jansoen himself has been voted out by the directors because he killed the stork, and only last summer was caught in the act of robbing a bird's nest, a legal offense in Holland. This Jansoen Kope, you see, was there. I cannot tell the story just now. The race is about to commence. Twenty girls are formed in a line. The music has ceased. A man whom we shall call the crier stands between the columns and the first judge's stand. He reads the rules in a loud voice. The girls and boys are to race in turn, until one girl and one boy have beaten twice. They are to start in a line from the united columns, skate to the flagstaff line, turn, and then come back to the starting point, thus making a mile at each run. A flag is waved from the judge's stand. Madame Van Gleck rises in her pavilion.  When she drops it, a bugler is to give the signal for them to start. The handkerchief is fluttering to the ground. Hark! They are off! No, back again. Their line was not true in passing the judge's stand. The signal is repeated. Off again! No mistake this time. Phew! How fast they go! The multitude is quiet for an instant, absorbed in eager, breathless watching. Cheers spring up along the line of spectators. Huzzah! Five girls are ahead. Who comes flying back from the boundary mark? We cannot tell. Something red, that is all. There is a blue spot, flitting near it, and a dash of yellows nearer still. Spectators at this end of the line strained their eyes and wished they had taken their posts nearer the flagstaff. The wave of cheers is coming back again. Now we can see, Katrina is ahead. She passes the Van Hulp pavilion. The next is Madame Van Gleck's. That leaning figure gazing from it is a magnet. Hilda shoots past Katrina, waving her hand to her mother as she passes. Two others are close now, whizzing on like arrows. What is that flash of red and gray? Hurrah! It is Gretel!  The crowd is cheering, but she hears only her father's voice. Well done, little Gretel! Soon Katrina, with a quick merry laugh, shoots past Hilda. The girl in yellow is gaining now. She passes them all, all except Gretel. The judges lean forward without seeming to lift their eyes from their watches. Here after cheer fills the air, their very columns seem rocking. Gretel has passed them. She has won. Gretel Brinker, one mile, shouts the crier. The judges nod. They write something upon a tablet which each holds in his hand. While the girls are resting, some crowding eagerly around our frightened little Gretel, some standing aside and high to stain, the boys form a line.  The boys have started. Halfway already did you ever see the like. Three hundred legs flashing by in an instant. But there are only twenty boys. No matter. There were hundreds of legs, I am sure. Where are they now? There is such a noise, one gets bewildered. What are the people laughing at?  See him go? See him? He'll be down in an instant. No, he won't. I wonder if he knows he is all alone. The other boys are nearly at the boundary line. Yes, he knows it. He stops. He wipes his hot face. He takes off his cap and looks about him. Better to give up with a good grace. He has made a hundred friends by that hearty, astonished laugh. Good Jacob Pute! The fine fellow is already among the spectators, gazing as eagerly as the rest. A cloud of feathery ice flies from the heels of the skaters as they bring to and turn at the flagstaffs. Something black is coming now. One of the boys. It is all we know. He has touched the Vox Humana stop of the crowd. It fairly roars. Now they come nearer. We can see the red cap. There's Ben. There's Peter. There's Hans. This is ahead. Young Madame von Gend almost crushes the flowers in her hand. She has been quite sure that Peter would be first. Carl Schummel is next, then Ben, and the youth with the red cap. A tall figure darts from among them. He passes the red cap. He passes Ben, then Carl. Now it is an even race between him and Hans. Madame von Gend catches her breath. It is Peter. He is ahead. Hans shoots past him. He'll his eyes fill with tears. Peter must beat. Annie's eyes flash proudly. Gretel gazes with clasped hands. Four strokes more will take her brother to the columns. He is there. Yes, but so was young Schummel just a second before. At the last second Carl, gathering his powers, had whizzed between them and passed the goal. Carl Schummel, one mile, shouts the crier. Soon Madame von Gleck rises again. The falling handkerchief starts the bugle, and the bugle, using its voice as a bow string, shoots off twenty girls like so many arrows. It is a beautiful sight, but one has not long to look. Before we can fairly distinguish them, they are far in the distance. This time they are close upon one another. It is hard to say as they come speeding back from the flagstaff which will reach the columns first. There are new faces among them foremost, eager, glowing faces, unnoticed before. Katrinka is there, and Hilda, but Gretel and Richie are in the rear. Gretel is wavering, but when Richie passes her, she starts forward afresh. Now they are nearly beside Katrinka. Hilda is still in advance. She is almost home. She has not faltered since that bugle note sent her flying. Like an arrow still, she is speeding toward the goal. There after cheer rises in the air. Peter is silent, but his eyes shine like stars. Huzzah! Huzzah! The crier's voice is heard again. Hilda van Gleck, one mile! A loud murmur of approval runs through the crowd, catching the music in its course, till all seems one sound, with a glad rhythmic throbbing in its depths, when the flag waves all is still. Once more the bugle blows a terrific blast.  Dark chaff, I admit, and in big pieces. It is whisked around at the flagstaff, driven faster yet by the cheers and shouts along the line. We begin to see what is coming. There are three boys in advance, this time, and all abreast. Hans, Peter, and Lumbert. Carl soon breaks the ranks, rushing through with a whiff. Fly, Hans! Fly, Peter!  Carl the bitter, Carl the insolent. Van Monen is flagging, but you are strong as ever. Hans and Peter, Peter and Hans, which is foremost. We love them both. We scarcely care which is the fleeter. Hilda, Annie, and Gretel, seated upon the long crimson bench, can remain quiet no longer. They spring to their feet, so different and yet one in eagerness. Hilda instantly receipts herself. None shall know how interested she is. None shall know how anxious, how filled with one hope.  Hide your face, rippling with joy. Peter has beaten. Peter van Hope, one mile, calls the crier. The same buzz of excitement as before. While the judges take notes, the same throbbing of music through the din, but something is different. A little crowd presses close about some object near the column. Carl has fallen. He is not hurt, though somewhat stunned. If he were less sullen he would find more sympathy in these warm young hearts. As it is, they forget him as soon as he is fairly on his feet again. The girls are to skate their third mile. How resolute the little maidens look as they stand in a line. Some are solemn with a sense of responsibility. Somewhere a smile half bashful, half provoked. But one air of determination pervades them all. This third mile may decide the race. Still, if neither Gretel nor Hilda wins, there is yet a chance among the rest for the silver skates. Each girl feels sure that this time she will accomplish the distance in one half of the time. How they stamp to try their runners. How nervously they examine each strap.  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. Even the thrill of excitement as, after a few moments, four or five, in advance of the rest, comes speeding back, nearer, nearer to the white columns. Who is first? Not Richie, Katrenka, Annie, nor Hilda, nor the girl in yellow, but Gretel. Gretel the fleeting sprite of a girl that ever skated. She was but playing in the earlier races, now she is an earnest, or rather something within her has determined to win. That lithe 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 von Hulp 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, my dear? Ah, Hans, is 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. My dear, 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 bucle will be sounding in another minute. My dear, pleaded Hans in a husky voice, you have called me your friend. Take this strap quick. There's not an instant to lose. I shall not skate this time. Indeed, I am out of practice. My dear, 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 Lumbert from the line, We are waiting for you. For madam's sake, pleaded Hans, be quick. She is motioning to you to join the racers. There, the skate is almost on. Quick, my dear, fasten it. I could not possibly win. The race lies between master Schummel and yourself. You are our noble fellow, Hans, cried Peter, yielding at last. He sprang to his post, just as the white-hanker-chief fell to the ground. The bugle sends forth its blast, loud, clear and ringing. Off go the boys! Moingot! cries a tough old fellow from Delft. They beat everything, these Amsterdam youngsters. See them! See them indeed. They are winged mercaries, every one of them. What mad errand are they on? Ah, I know, they are hunting Peter van Hope. He is some fleet-footed runaway from Olympus. Mercury and his troop of winged cousins are in full chase. They will catch him. Now Carl is the runaway. The pursuit grows furious. Ben is foremost. The chase turns in a cloud of mist. It is coming this way. Who is hunted now? Mercury himself. It is Peter, Peter van Hope. Fly, Peter! Hans is watching you. He is sending all his fleetness, all his strength into your feet. Your mother and sister are pale with eagerness. Hilda is trembling and dares not look up. Fly, Peter! The crowd has not gone deranged. It is only cheering. The pursuers are close upon you. Touch the white column. It beckons. It is reeling before you. Huzzah! Huzzah! Peter has won the silver skates. Peter van Hope shouted the crier. But who heard him? Peter van Hope shouted a hundred voices, for he was the favorite boy of the place. Huzzah! Huzzah! Now the music was resolved to be heard. It struck up a lively air, then a tremendous march. The spectators, thinking something new was about to happen, deigned to listen and to look. The races formed in single file. Peter, being tallest, stood first. Gretel, the smallest of all, took her place at the end. Hans, who had borrowed a strap from the cake boy, was near the head. Three gaily twined arches were placed at intervals upon the river facing the Van Gleck Pavilion. Skating slowly and in perfect time to the music, the boys and girls moved forward, led on by Peter. It was beautiful to see the bright procession glide along like a living creature. It curved and doubled, and drew its graceful length in and out among the arches. Whichever way Peter the head went, the body was sure to follow. Sometimes it steered direct for the center arch. Then, as if seized with a new impulse, turned away and curled itself about the first one. Then unwound slowly and bending low, with quick snake-like curvings, crossed the river, passing at length through the furthest arch. When the music was slow, the procession seemed to crawl like a thing of frayed. It grew livelier, and the creature darted forward with a spring, gliding rapidly among the arches, in and out, curling, twisting, turning, never losing form until, at the shrill call of the bugle rising above the music, it suddenly resolved itself into boys and girls standing in a double semi-circle before Madame Van Gleck's pavilion. Peter and Gretel stand in the center in advance of the others. Madame Van Gleck rises majestically. Gretel trembles but feels that she must look at the beautiful lady. She cannot hear what is said. There is such a buzzing all around her. She is thinking that she ought to try and make a curtsy, such as her mother makes to the maester, when suddenly something so dazzling is placed in her hand that she gives a cry of joy. Then she ventures to look about her. Peter too has something in his hands. Oh! Oh! How splendid! She cries. And oh! How splendid! This echoed as far as people can see. Meantime the silver skates flash in the sunshine, throwing dashes of light upon those two happy faces. Mèvre Van Ghent sends a little messenger with her bouquets, one for Hilda, one for Carl, and others for Peter and Gretel. At sight of the flowers the queen of the skaters becomes uncontrollable.  End of chapter.


Soldiers from the 2nd Battalion, 8th Cavalry Regiment, 1st Brigade Combat Team, 1st Cavalry Division made history by being the first US tank crew to fire the M1A2 Abrams tank in Poland. Tank gunner, specialist Corey Troxel of Charlie Company is the man who fired the first round in Poland and was excited about the opportunity. First off it was just normal gunnery stuff, L-fastening getting the tank to zero and then by the time we ended it we shot that first round. We were like wow that was actually the first round in Poland, that's pretty cool so we were actually really excited about being the first ones to do that. The 1st Brigade is in the Baltic States as part of Operation Atlantic Resolve and as units in Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia and Poland. Operation Atlantic Resolve is intended to strengthen US relationships with our NATO allies. Specialist Troxel's tank commander Staff Sergeant John Durst knows the importance of training with our allies to build a stronger relationship. Everybody's got to start somewhere and I think that's the most important thing, it's just building a relationship. You can't just jump right into anything tactical or working together, you have to establish that connection communication relationship before anything else. I think that is the most important part. Specialist Troxel also knows the importance of the United States being in Poland and the Baltic States.  That's a voice saying hey we're here to support our Polish allies and anyone else in the Baltic States. That is our mission here. From the Michigan National Guard I'm Specialist John Brandenburg.


What is going on guys welcome back to the channel critical overlord here So we're gonna be talking about screen 5 again and just speculating on if in fact We may have our opening kill right in front of us hiding in plain sight Now a lot of us already know the cast for those of us who are fans of the franchise and have been following every little bit of News and details that come out about this upcoming series or this upcoming film screen 5 set to come out in January We know we have a young group of supporting cast members Joining the fray with Nev Campbell David Arquette and Courtney Cox who have already been confirmed to return and reprised their Familiar characters that we already know and love and a group grown up with since the original film came out in 1996 So among these new supporting cast members we have Melissa Verrera and we have Jen Ortega who many of us are speculating will be The new final girls or the center of what transpires in this upcoming fifth entry Stepping away from the whole Sydney Prescott Marine Prescott that whole Roberts Prescott family dynamic and shifting the Ghostface killing spree over to a new family dynamic in this case It being with the carpenters So Jen Ortega is playing terror carpenter Sam carpenter is going to be portrayed by Melissa Verrera So what we know from the brief synopsis that we've had since I'll say late 2019 or early 2020 We know that a young woman returns to her hometown to investigate a series of vicious crimes This is not referring to Sydney the reason I'm confident that it is not Sydney Is because of the things that have come out from behind the scenes and the things that we continue to get Little by little with some of the passing months that have come on since then It would have just an outright name Sydney You can just outright name Sydney if it was referring to Sydney, too you don't need to hide that but It's the fact of the matter that it's not going to be Sydney pretty certain this woman that's returns her hometown is Sam Carpenter Now the opening kill Which many of us are still believing that we'll get an opening kill I do want to lend more on the side of we'll just have something that is Set up to be the next opening kill But it ends up just being an opening attack.  We'll have our first opening Person who survives the attack once again sub subverting our expectations already by Switching up the formula and having the person actually live. I think that's what should happen And I hope that's what happens, but let's say that this person that's in the opening actually dies Many of us have already come to the conclusion that this person that's in the opening And what will bring Sam Carpenter back to her hometown is her younger sister Tara Carpenter again played by Jenna Ortega Getting attacked by Ghostface at the start of this film We speculated that Selena Gomez would be right along with her Playing a third Carpenter sister that we haven't yet found out about because Selena Gomez's participation would of course be kept a secret And she'll be the one that gets killed in the opening. However, let's say Selena Gomez isn't here And Tara Carpenter is the only person in the opening Some of us have seen the audition tapes We know that there's clips of other characters Talking about the attack that transpires between Tara apparently and Ghostface at some point in the movie, but let's say for whatever reason Tara Carpenter Jenna Ortega We believe she'll make it all the way through to the film because of how long she was on set for but let's say She actually somehow shockingly is our opening kill We already know from what she stated on the Drew Barrymore show. She's been studying Casey Becker's opening Opening death scene from the original screen film. So What that means to me is that of course that lends to us having some knowledge on You being in the opening that doesn't necessarily mean that you'll die, but let's say that you will that would be shocking one because Many of us already assume she'll be joining her sister right along through the thick of things for the majority of the film and Will be seeing her interact with her friends them navigating through these new woodsboro killings And it'll also accommodate with the two sisters finding out who's been tormenting them and trying to tear them apart along with killing off some of Tara's friends some of Sam's probably close sentimental relatives to or peers that she left behind in the town Because Sam is supposed to be a character returning who left woodsboro for an unknown reason as of right now But we'll first learn that as the film progresses, but these ghostface killings will bring her back But again Tara Carpenter actually dying wouldn't be something that should be that Hard to imagine considering that again the way that we are convinced She'll be here through the thick of things. She'll be here right along with with her sister Sam They could pull the rug right out from under us and Jenna Ortega could be our opening kill victim a lot of us Listening to this listening to this video or not the way it's executed. I still could leave a lot of us shocked We could go into it very confident that she'll make it out alive only for her to be killed And that'll be one of the draw one of the primary reasons that makes Sam come back to woodsboro The death of her sister not only the attack of her sister, but the ultimate unfortunate death Jenna Ortega has been talked about as being the new lead girl in this screen five film from the I believe babysitter director the babysitter killer director at one point or another So all this hype around her involvement in the in the film only for us to have the rug pulled right out from under us And she's the opening kill that's something to keep in mind I think we should all have that in the back of our heads and it's not that far fetched in ways They are kind of setting her up to be like a Drew Barrymore where she has all of this Not necessarily I guess the same star power as Drew Barrymore But she does have that that fan base where we're all rooting for this character and can't wait to see what happens We kind of already have any Indication that she'll be involved in some type of opening attack But we're all expecting her to make it out alive and be our new Sydney Prescott in ways, but they could again Shock us and they could kill her off and she will be the new Casey Becker quite literally by Dying because you're ultimately gonna be Casey Becker by being in the opening sequence anyway You don't necessarily have to die, but they could go all go all out and they could kill her and again I would much more rather have her just make it out alive They got subverting our expectations But at the same time a lot of us again because of the things that they've done purposely putting out certain leaks and other things that have come out Purposely that's them again getting us into the mindset of expecting her to live and then they're going to subvert it Once again by having her die. There's a lot of things. I just think it's interesting to keep that in mind She could be the opening kill. Let me know what you're not thinking about that down in the comment section below Do you think Tara Carpenter general or take it will be killed at the starter screen five? If you haven't already make sure you subscribe turn on post notification and miss a video in the description I have links in my social media accounts on my Facebook tour to Instagram you can message me there Of course, let me see movies news or reviews You like me to cover in the future and also shout out to be me up Scotty for putting me on to this theory And with all that in mind guys, I will see you in the next video