"Hans is a stout fellow," said Hilda, cheerily, "and seems to have a warm stove somewhere within him, but you look cold. You should wear more clothing, little one."
Gretel, who had nothing else to wear, tried to laugh as she answered:
"I am not so very little. I am past twelve years old."
"Oh, I beg your pardon. You see I am nearly fourteen, and so large of my age that other girls seem small to me, but that is nothing. Perhaps you will shoot up far above me yet; not unless you dress more warmly, though—shivering girls never grow."
Hans flushed as he saw tears rising in Gretel's eyes.
"My sister has not complained of the cold; but this is bitter weather they say—" and he looked sadly upon Gretel.
"It is nothing," said Gretel. "I am often warm—too warm when I am skating. You are good jufvrouw[1] to think of it."
"No, no," answered Hilda, quite angry at herself. "I am careless, cruel; but I meant no harm. I wanted to ask you—I mean—if—" and here Hilda, coming to the point of her errand, faltered before the poorly clad but noble-looking children she wished to serve.
"What is it, young lady?" exclaimed Hans eagerly. "If there is any service I can do? any———"
"Oh! no, no," laughed Hilda, shaking off her embarrassment, "I only wished to speak to you about the grand race. Why do you not join it? You both can
- ↑ Miss—Young lady, (pronounced yuffrow.) In studied or polite address It would be jongvrowe (pronounced youngfrow.)
