Hans looked up hurriedly. He had a true Dutch horror or tears,
or emotion of any kind, and most of all, he dreaded to see his
sisters' blue eyes overflowing.

"Now, mind," cried Gretel, seeing her advantage, "I'll feel awful
if you give up the skates. I don't want them. I'm not so
stingy as that; but I want YOU to have them, and then when I get
bigger, they'll do for me--oh--count the pieces, Hans. Did you
ever see so many!"

Hans turned the money thoughtfully in his palm. Never in all his
life had he longed so intensely for a pair of skates, for he had
known of the race and had fairly ached for a chance to test his
powers with the other children. He felt confident that with a
good pair of steel runners he could readily outdistance most of
the boys on the canal. Then, too, Gretel's argument was
plausible. On the other hand, he knew that she, with her strong
but lithe little frame, needed but a week's practice on good
runners to make her a better skater than Rychie Korbes or even
Katrinka Flack. As soon as this last thought flashed upon him,
his resolve was made. If Gretel would not have the jacket, she
should have the skates.

"No, Gretel," he answered at last, "I can wait. Someday I may
have money enough saved to buy a fine pair. You shall have
these."

Gretel's eyes sparkled, but in another instant she insisted,
rather faintly, "The young lady gave the money to YOU, Hans.