บทที่ บทที่ 45 · Broad Sunshine

. Broad Sunshine

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. It was a peaceful, happy household

whose main excitement during the past week had been the looking forward

to this possible visit from Thomas Higgs.

As soon as the grand presentation was over, Dame Brinker insisted upon

giving her guests some hot tea; it was enough to freeze anyone, she

said, to be out in such crazy, blustering weather. While they were

talking with her husband she whispered to Gretel that the young

gentleman’s eyes and her boy’s were certainly as much alike as four

beans, to say nothing of a way they both had of looking as if they were

stupid and yet knew as much as a body’s grandfather.

Gretel was disappointed. She had looked forward to a tragic scene, such

as Annie Bouman had often described to her, from storybooks; and here

was the gentleman who came so near being a murderer, who for ten years

had been wandering over the face of the earth, who believed himself

deserted and scorned by his father--the very young gentleman who had

fled from his country in such magnificent trouble, sitting by the fire

just as pleasant and natural as could be!

To be sure, his voice had trembled when he talked with her parents, and

he had met his father’s look with a bright kind of smile that would have

suited a dragon-killer bringing the waters of perpetual youth to his

king, but after all, he wasn’t at all like the conquered hero in Annie’s

book. He did not say, lifting his arm toward heaven, “I hereby swear

to be forever faithful to my home, my God, and my country!” which would

have been only right and proper under the circumstances.

All things considered, Gretel was disappointed. Raff, however, was

perfectly satisfied. The message was delivered. Dr. 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. So he pushed back

every feeling but joy as he saw father and son sitting side by side at

his hearthstone. Meantime, Hans was wholly occupied in the thought of

Thomas Higgs’s happiness in being able to be the meester’s assistant

again, and Dame Brinker was sighing softly to herself, wishing that the

lad’s mother were alive to see him--such a fine young gentleman as he

was--and wondering how Dr. Boekman could bear to see the silver watch

getting so dull. He had worn it ever since Raff handed it over, that was

evident. What had he done with the gold one he used to wear?

The light was shining full upon Dr. Boekman’s face. How contented he

looked; how much younger and brighter than formerly. The hard lines were

quite melting away. He was laughing as he said to the father, “Am I not

a happy man, Raff Brinker? My son will sell out his factory this month

and open a warehouse in Amsterdam. I shall have all my spectacle cases

for nothing.”

Hans started from his reverie. “A warehouse, mynheer! And will Thomas

Higgs--I mean, is your son not to be your assistant again?”

A shade passed over the meester’s face, but he brightened with an effort

as he replied, “Oh, no, Laurens has had quite enough of that. He wishes

to be a merchant.”

Hans appeared so surprised and disappointed that his friend asked

good-naturedly, “Why so silent, boy? Is it any disgrace to be a

merchant?”

“N-not a disgrace, mynheer,” stammered Hans, “but--”

“But what?”

“Why, the other calling is so much better,” answered Hans, “so much

nobler. I think, mynheer,” he added with enthusiasm, “that to be a

surgeon, to cure the sick and crippled, to save human life, to be able

to do what you have done for my father, is the grandest thing on earth.”

The doctor was regarding him sternly. Hans felt rebuked. His cheeks were

flushed; hot tears were gathering under his lashes.

“It is an ugly business, boy, this surgery,” said the doctor, still

frowning at Hans. “It requires great patience, self-denial, and

perseverance.”

“I am sure that it does,” cried Hans. “It calls for wisdom, too, and

a reverence for God’s work. Ah, mynheer, it may have its trials and

drawbacks, but you do not mean what you say. 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?”

“Fifteen, mynheer,” was the startled reply.

“Would you like to become a physician?”

“Yes, mynheer,” answered Hans, quivering with excitement.

“Would you be willing, with your parents’ consent, to devote yourself

to study, to go to the university, and, in time, be a student in my

office?”

“Yes, mynheer.”

“You would not grow restless, think you, and change your mind just as I

had set my heart upon preparing you to be my successor?”

Hans’s eyes flashed.

“No, mynheer, I would not change.”

“You may believe him there,” cried the dame, who could remain quiet no

longer. “Hans is like a rock when once he decides, and as for study,

mynheer, the child has almost grown fast to his books of late. He can

jumble off Latin already, like any priest!”

The doctor smiled. “Well, Hans, I see nothing to prevent us from

carrying out this plan, if your father agrees.”

“Ahem,” said Raff, too proud of his boy to be very meek. “The fact is,

mynheer, I prefer an active, out-of-door life, myself. But if the lad’s

inclined to study for a meester, and he’d have the benefit of your good

word to push him on in the world, it’s all one to me. The money’s all

that’s wanting, but it mightn’t be long, with two strong pair of arms to

earn it, before we--”

“Tut, tut!” interrupted the doctor. “If I take your right-hand man away,

I must pay the cost, and glad enough will I be to do it. It will be like

having TWO sons, eh, Laurens? One a merchant and the other a surgeon. I

shall be the happiest man in Holland! Come to me in the morning, Hans,

and we will arrange matters at once.”

Hans bowed assent. He dared not trust himself to speak.

“And, Brinker,” continued the doctor, “my son Laurens will need a

trusty, ready man like you, when he opens his warehouse in Amsterdam,

someone to oversee matters, and see that the lazy clowns round about the

place do their duty. Someone to--Why don’t you tell him yourself, you

rascal!”

This last was addressed to the son and did not sound half as fierce

as it looks in print. The rascal and Raff soon understood each other

perfectly.

“I’m loath to leave the dikes,” said the latter, after they had talked

together awhile, “but it is such a good offer, mynheer, I’d be robbing

my family if I let it go past me.”

Take a long look at Hans as he sits there staring gratefully at the

meester, for you shall not see him again for many years.

And Gretel--ah, what a vista of puzzling work suddenly opens before her!

Yes, for dear Hans’s sake she will study now. If he really is to be a

meester, his sister must not shame his greatness.

How faithfully those glancing eyes shall yet seek for the jewels that

lie hidden in rocky schoolbooks! And how they shall yet brighten and

droop at the coming of one whom she knows of now only as the boy who

wore a red cap on that wonderful day when she found the silver skates in

her apron!

But the doctor and Laurens are going. Dame Brinker is making her best

curtsy. Raff stands beside her, looking every inch a man as he grasps

the meester’s hand. Through the open cottage door we can look out upon

the level Dutch landscape, all alive with the falling snow.