envious fret of his neighbour lost itself outside Joris Van
Heemskirk's home. Within it, all was love and content. He quickly divested
himself of his fine coat and ruffles, and in a long scarlet vest, and a
little skull-cap made of orange silk, sat down to smoke. He had talked a
good deal in the City Hall, and he was now chewing deliberately the cud of
his wisdom over again. Madam Van Heemskirk understood that, and she let
the good man reconsider himself in peace. Besides, this was her busy hour.
She was giving out the food for the morning's breakfast, and locking up
the cupboards, and listening to complaints from the kitchen, and making a
plaster for black Tom's bealing finger. In some measure, she prepared all
day for this hour, and yet there was always something unforeseen to be
done in it.

[Illustration: Locking-up the cupboards]

She was a little woman, with clear-cut features, and brown hair drawn
backward under a cap of lace very stiffly starched. Her tight fitting
dress of blue taffeta was open in front, and looped up behind in order
to show an elaborately quilted petticoat of light-blue camblet. Her
white wool stockings were clocked with blue, her high-heeled shoes cut
very low, and clasped with small silver buckles. From her trim cap to
her trig shoes, she was a pleasant and comfortable picture of a happy,
domestic woman; smiling, peaceful, and easy to live with.

When the last duty was finished, she let her bunch of keys fall with a
satisfactory "all done" jingle, that made her Joris look at her with a
smile. "That is so," she said in answer to it. "A woman is glad when she
gets all under lock and key for a few hours. Servants are not made
without fingers; and, I can tell thee, all the thieves are not yet
hung."

"That needs no proving, Lysbet. But where, then, is Joanna and the
little one? And Bram should be home ere this. He has stayed out late
more than once lately, and it vexes me. Thou art his mother, speak to
him."

"Bram is good; do not make his bridle too short. Katherine troubles me
more than Bram. She is quiet and thinks much; and when I say, 'What art
thou thinking of?' she answers always, 'Nothing, mother.' That is not
right. When a girl says, 'Nothing, mother,' there is something--perhaps,
indeed, _somebody_--on her mind."

"Katherine is nothing but a child. Who would talk love to a girl who has
not yet taken her first communion? What you think is nonsense, Lysbet;"
but he looked annoyed,