Gretel drew up her lips as if to say "hurt away," but made no further response.
In another moment they were laughing together, as hand in hand they flew along the canal, never thinking whether the ice would bear or not, for in Holland, ice is generally an all-Winter affair. It settles itself upon the water in a determined kind of way, and so far from growing thin and uncertain every time the sun is a little severe upon it, it gathers its forces day by day and flashes defiance to every beam.
Presently, squeak! squeak! sounded something beneath Hans' feet. Next his strokes grew shorter, ending ofttimes with a jerk, and finally, he lay sprawling upon the ice, kicking against the air with many a fantastic flourish.
"Ha! Ha!" laughed Gretel, "that was a fine tumble!" But a tender heart was beating under her coarse blue jacket and, even as she laughed, she came, with a graceful sweep, close to her prostrate brother.
"Are you hurt, Hans? oh, you are laughing! catch me now"—and she darted away shivering no longer, but with cheeks all aglow, and eyes sparkling with fun.
Hans sprang to his feet and started in brisk pursuit, but it was no easy thing to catch Gretel. Before she had traveled very far, her skates, too, began to squeak.
Believing that discretion was the better part of valor she turned suddenly and skated into her pursuer's arms.
"Ha! ha! I've caught you!" cried Hans.
"Ha! ha! I caught you," she retorted, struggling to free herself.
Just then a clear, quick voice was heard calling "Hans! Gretel!"