"All right, father," said Hans, "the name's down now in black and white. Here, look at it, father; mayhap the rest will come to you. If we had the place as well, it would be complete;" then turning to Peter, he said in a low tone, "I have an important errand in town, mynheer, and if——"
"Wist!" exclaimed the dame, lifting her hands, "not to Amsterdam to-night, and you've owned your legs were aching under you. Nay, nay—it'll be soon enough to go at early daylight."
"Daylight indeed!" echoed Raff, "that would never do. Nay, Meitje, he must go this hour."
The vrouw looked for an instant as if Raff's recovery was becoming rather a doubtful benefit; her word was no longer sole law in the house. Fortunately, the proverb, "Humble wife is husband's boss," had taken deep root in her mind; even as the dame pondered, it bloomed.
"Very well, Raff," she said smilingly, "it is thy boy as well as mine. Ah! I've a troublesome house, young masters."
Just then Peter drew a long strap from his pocket.
Handing it to Hans he said in an undertone, "I need not thank you for lending me this, Hans Brinker. Such boys as you do not ask for thanks—but I must say you did me a great kindness, and I am proud to acknowledge it. I did not know," he added, laughingly, "until fairly in the race, how anxious I was to win."
Hans was glad to join in Peter's laugh—it covered his embarrassment and gave his face a chance to cool off a little. Honest, generous boys like Hans have such a stupid way of blushing when you least expect it.
"It was nothing, mynheer," said the dame, hastening to her son's relief; "the lad's whole soul was in having you win the race, I know it was!"
This helped matters beautifully.