Hilda laughed pleasantly and left him. After joining a small detachment of the racers, and sailing past every one of them, she halted beside Gretel who, with eager eyes, had been watching the sport.
"What is your name, little girl?"
"Gretel, my lady," answered the child, somewhat awed by Hilda's rank, though they were nearly of the same age, "and my brother is called Hans."
"Hans is a stout fellow," said Hilda, cheerily, "and seems to have a warm stove somewhere within him, but you look cold. You should wear more clothing, little one."
Gretel, who had nothing else to wear, tried to laugh as she answered:
"I am not so very little. I am past twelve years old."
"Oh, I beg your pardon. You see I am nearly fourteen, and so large of my age that other girls seem small to me, but that is nothing. Perhaps you will shoot up far above me yet; not unless you dress more warmly, though—shivering girls never grow."
Hans flushed as he saw tears rising in Gretel's eyes.
"My sister has not complained of the cold; but this is bitter weather they say——" and he looked sadly upon Gretel.
"It is nothing," said Gretel. "I am often warm—too warm when I am skating. You are good, jufvrouw,[9] to think of it."