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Updated: July 25, 2025
Boekman had not yet reached Leyden but that a letter containing Hans's message had been left at the hotel where the doctor always lodged during his visits to the city. "Tell him, also," wrote Peter, "that I shall call there again, as I pass through Leyden.
"Because I cannot, mynheer," answered Hans as he bent 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, mynheer." "I'll take back all I said about Dr. Boekman." "Yes, mynheer."
Boekman had his son safe and sound, and the poor lad had done nothing sinful after all, except in thinking that his father would have abandoned him for an accident. To be sure, the graceful stripling had become rather a heavy man. Raff had unconsciously hoped to clasp that same boyish hand again, but all things were changed to Raff, for that matter.
But did she set the cream to rise in golden pans? Did she use a golden skimmer? When her cows were in winter quarters, were their tails really tied up with ribbons? When crossing the Y, whom should he see skating toward him but the great Dr. Boekman, the most famous physician and surgeon in Holland.
One snowy day in January Laurens Boekman went with his father to pay his respects to the Brinker family. Raff was resting after the labors of the day; Gretel, having filled and lighted his pipe, was brushing every speck of ash from the hearth; the dame was spinning; and Hans, perched upon a stool by the window, was diligently studying his lessons.
"Come in," stammered Dame Brinker, hastily trying to hide the watch in her bosom. "Oh, is it you, mynheer! Good day! The father is nearly well, as you see. It's a poor place to greet you in, mynheer, and the dinner not cleared away." Dr. Boekman scarcely noticed the dame's apology. He was evidently in haste. "Ahem!" he exclaimed. "Not needed here, I perceive. The patient is mending fast."
But for the meester's kind heart and great skill my poor father would yet be in the dark. I think, mynheer," he added with kindling eyes, "surgery 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. Boekman certainly has skill. As for his heart defend me from such hearts as his!"
It is great and noble, not ugly! Pardon me, mynheer. It is not for me to speak so boldly." Dr. Boekman was evidently displeased. He turned his back on the boy and conferred aside with Laurens. Meanwhile the dame scowled a terrible warning at Hans. These great people, she knew well enough, never like to hear poor folk speak up so pertly. The meester turned around. "How old are you, Hans Brinker?"
"The question is EVERYTHING to us, mynheer," said Hans with tearful dignity. Dr. Boekman looked at him in sudden dismay. "Ah! Exactly so. You are right, boy, I am a fool. Good boy. One does not wish one's father killed of course I am a fool." "Will he die, mynheer, if this sickness goes on?" "Humph! This is no new illness.
There was strength even in the touch of that yellow hair. She turned to her boy imploringly. "Oh, Hans! What shall I say?" "Say what God tells thee, Mother," answered Hans, bowing his head. One quick, questioning prayer to Heaven rose from the mother's heart. The answer came. She turned toward Dr. Boekman. "It is right, mynheer. I consent."
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