its by Willem Van Aslet,
tavern-scenes by Adrian Van Ostade; a notable Cuyp; a small Gerard Dow
of peculiar richness; portraits--the Burgomaster Albert Van der Knoope,
by Thomas de Keyser--the Admiral Nicholas, by Kneller--the Admiral Peter
(grand-uncle of the blind Admiral), by Romney. . . . My guide seemed as
honestly proud of them as insensible of their condition, which was in
almost every case deplorable. By-and-by, in the library we came upon a
modern portrait of a rosy-faced boy in a blue suit, who held (strange
combination!) a large ribstone pippin in one hand and a cricket bat in
the other--a picture altogether of such glaring demerit that I wondered
for a moment why it hung so conspicuously over the fireplace, while
worthier paintings were elbowed into obscure corners. Then with a
sudden inkling I glanced at Uncle Melchior. He nodded gravely.

"That is Fritz."

I pulled out my watch. "I believe," I said, "it must be time for me to
bid your brother good-bye."

"You need be in no hurry," said Miss Wilhelmina's voice behind me.
"The last train to Aber has gone at least ten minutes since.
You must dine and sleep with us to-night."

I awoke next morning between sheets of sweet-smelling linen in a carved
four-post bed, across the head-board of which ran the motto "STEMMATA
QVID FACIVNT" in faded letters of gilt. If the appearance of the room,
with its tattered hangings and rickety furniture, had counted for
anything, my dreams should certainly have been haunted. But, as a
matter of fact, I never slept better. Possibly the lightness of the
dinner (cooked by the small handmaid Lobelia) had something to do with
it; possibly, too, the infectious somnolence of the two Admirals, who
spoke but little during the meal, and nodded, without attempt at
dissimulation, over the dessert. At any rate, shortly after nine
o'clock--when Miss Wilhelmina brought out a heavy Church Service, and
Uncle Melchior read the lesson and collect for the day and a few
prayers, including the one "For those at Sea"--I had felt quite ready
for bed. And now, thanks to a cold compress, my ankle had mended
considerably. I descended to breakfast in very cheerful mind, and found
Miss Wilhelmina alone at the table.

"Uncle Peter," she explained, "rarely comes down before mid-day; and
Uncle Melchior breakfasts in his room. He is busy with the accounts."

"So early?"

She smiled rather sadly. "They take a deal of disentangling."

She ask