Perhaps you were surprised to learn that Raff and his vrouw were at the skating-race; you would have been more so had you been with them on the evening of that merry 20th of December. To see the Brinker cottage standing sulkily alone on the frozen marsh, with its bulgy, rheumatic-looking walls, and its slouched hat of a roof pulled far over its eyes, one would never suspect that a lively scene was passing within. Without, nothing was left of the day but a low line of blaze at the horizon. A few venturesome clouds had already taken fire, and others, with their edges burning, were lost in the gathering smoke.
A stray gleam of sunshine slipping down from the willow stump crept stealthily under the cottage. It seemed to feel that the inmates would give it welcome if it could only get near them. The room under which it hid was as clean as clean could be. The very cracks in the rafters were polished. Delicious odors filled the air. A huge peat fire upon the hearth sent flashes of harmless lightning at the sombre walls. It played in turn upon the great leathern Bible, upon Gretel's closet-bed, the household things on their pegs, and the beautiful Silver Skates and the flowers upon the table. Dame Brinker's honest face shone and twinkled in the changing light. Gretel and Hans, with arms entwined, were leaning against the fireplace, laughing merrily, and Raff Brinker was dancing!
I do not mean that he was pirouetting or cutting a pigeon-wing, either of which would have been entirely too undignified for the father of a family; I simply affirm that while they were chatting pleasantly together Raff suddenly sprang from his seat, snapped his fingers and performed two or three flourishes very much like the climax of a Highland Fling. Next he caught his vrouw in his arms and fairly lifted her from the ground in his delight.
"Huzza!" he cried, "I have it! I have it! It's Thomas Higgs. That's the name! It came upon me like a flash; write it down, lad, write it down!"
Some one knocked at the door.
"It's the meester," cried the delighted dame. "Goede Gunst! how things come to pass!"
Mother and children came in merry collision as they rushed to open the door.
It was not the doctor, after all, but three boys, Peter van Holp, Lambert and Ben.
"Good-evening, young gentlemen," said Dame Brinker, so happy and proud that she would scarce have been surprised at a visit from the King himself.
"Good-evening, jufvrouw," said the trio, making magnificent bows.