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Updated: May 25, 2025
Gretel said no more but plucked drearily at the jagged edge of a hole in her mother's holiday gown. It had been burned there. Well for Dame Brinker that the gown was woolen. Haarlem The Boys Hear Voices
Whether the hard polished stool offered by Dame Brinker did not look particularly tempting, or whether the dame herself frightened him, partly because she was a woman, and partly because an anxious, distressed look had suddenly appeared in her face, I cannot say.
Soon Gretel looked up with that dull, homely look which, they say, poor children in shanties are apt to have, and said in a trembling voice, "The father tried to burn you he did I saw him, and he was LAUGHING!" "Hush, child!" The mother's words came so suddenly and sharply that Raff Brinker, dead as he was to all that was passing around him, twitched slightly upon the bed.
Dame Brinker felt for her husband's hand even while she was praying. Dr. Boekman's head was bowed; the assistant stood by the hearth with his back toward them. "Why do you pray?" murmured the father, looking feebly from the bed as they rose. "Is it God's day?" It was not Sunday; but his vrouw bowed her head she could not speak.
But Dame Brinker had embroidered for a Heidelberg family in her girlhood, and she had carried its thee and thou into her rude home, to be used in moments of extreme love and tenderness. Therefore, "What keeps thee, Hans?" sang an echo song beneath the boy's whistling and made him feel that his errand was blest. Hans Has His Way
I could scarcely close my eyes last night after Sister told me of the plan. Only the thought of poor Hans Brinker and his sick father checked me, but for that I could have sung for joy. Ludwig has given us a name already the Broek Cavalry. We flatter ourselves that we shall make an imposing appearance, especially in single file...." The Broek Cavalry were not disappointed.
They cast themselves at the feet of Saint Nicholas, and he gave them his blessing, and oh! mercy on us, Hans, it will be dark before you get back if you don't start this minute!" By this time Dame Brinker was almost out of breath and quite out of commas.
Dame Brinker could not speak. He thrust in his hand and took out a piece of brick, then another, then another, then the stocking and the pouch, black and moldy, but filled with the long-lost treasure! Such a time! Such laughing! Such crying! Such counting after they went into the cottage! It was a wonder that Raff did not waken. His dreams were pleasant, however, for he smiled in his sleep.
He grew to be very thin before he died, thinner than Benjamin Dobbs, who is now portliest among the portly. Raff Brinker and his vrouw have been living comfortably in Amsterdam for many years a faithful, happy pair, as simple and straightforward in their good fortune as they were patient and trustful in darker days.
"See here, old pincushion, I'd run home yonder and get you a chunk of gingerbread if I thought you could open your mouth." Old pincushion was human long hours of waiting had made him ravenously hungry. At Janzoon's hint, his countenance showed signs of a collapse. "That's right, old fellow," pursued his tempter. "Hurry up! What news? old Brinker dead?"
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