Many years ago there lived in Holland a boy named Peter. Peter's father was one of the men who tended the gates in the dikes, called sluices. He opened and closed the sluices so that ships could pass out of Holland's canals into the great sea.

One afternoon in the early fall, when Peter was eight years old, his mother called him from his play, "Come, Peter," she said. "I want you to go across the dike and take these cakes to your friend, the blind man. If you go quickly, and do not stop to play, you will be home again before dark." The little boy enjoyed visiting the poor blind man and talking him about his walk along the dike and the ships far out at sea. Then he remembered his mother's wish that he should return before dark and, saying goodbye to his friend, he set out for home.

As he walked beside the canal, he noticed how the rains had swollen the waters, and how they beat against the side of the dike, and he thought of his father's gates. "I am glad that they are so strong," he said to himself. "If they gave way that what would be become of us? Father always calls them the angry waters."

As he walked along he sometimes stopped to pick the pretty flowers, or to listen to the rabbits' soft tread or to think about the poor blind man who had so few pleasures. Suddenly he noticed that the sun was setting. "Mother will be watching for me," he thought, and he began to run toward home.

Just then he heard a noise. It was the sound of trickling water! He stopped and looked down. There was a small hole in the dike! Any child in Holland is frightened at the thought of a leak in the dike. Peter understood the danger at once. If the water ran through a little hole it would soon make a larger one, and the whole country would be flooded. In a moment he saw what he must do. Throwing away his flowers, he climbed down the side of the dike and thrust his finger into the tiny hole. The flowing of the water was stopped!

"The angry waters must stay back now," he said to himself. "I can keep them back with my finger. Holland shall not drowned while I am here." This was all very well at first, but it soon grew dark and cold. The little fellow shouted and screamed. "Come here; come here," he called. But no heard him; no one came to help him. It grew still colder, and his arm ached, and began to grow stiff and numb. He shouted again, "Will no one come? Mother! Mother!"

But his mother had looked anxiously along the dike road many times since sunset for her little boy, and now she had closed and locked the cottage door. She thought that Peter was spending the night with his blind friend.

Peter tried to whistle, but his teeth chattered with the cold. He though of his family in their warm beds. "I must not let them be drowned," he thought. "I must stay here until someone comes, even if I have to stay all night." The moon and stars looked down on the child crouching on the side of the dike. His head was bent, and his eyes were closed, but he was not asleep. So he stayed there all night keeping the angry waters out.

Early the next morning a man going to work thought he heard a groan as he walked along the top of the dike. Looking over the edge, he saw a child clinging to the side of the dike. "What's the matter?" he called. "Are you hurt?" "I'm keeping the angry waters back!" Peter yelled. "Tell them to come quickly!"

The alarm was spread. People came running with shovels and the hole was soon mended. They carried Peter home to his parents, and before long the whole town knew how he had saved their lives that night. To this day, they have never forgotten the brave little hero of Holland.

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