ck the last hour of this memorable
year; and through the open portals of the sacred edifice the cathedral
choir was heard intoning the First Psalm.

Like frightened hens that have been scared, and now venture out again,
the worthy burghers of Haarlem sallied out from the by-streets into the
Grootemarkt, on their way to watch-night service: Mynheer the
burgomaster, and mynheer the town advocate, and the mevrouws their
wives, and the town councillors and the members of the shooting guilds,
and the governors and governesses of the Alms-houses. With ponderous
Bibles and prayer-books under their arms, and cloaks of fur closely
wrapped round their shoulders, they once more filled the Grootemarkt
with the atmosphere of their own solemnity. Their serving men carried
the torches in front of them, waiting women helped the mevrouws in their
unwieldy farthingales to walk on the slippery ground with becoming
sobriety.

The cathedral bells sent forth a merry peal to greet the incoming year.

CHAPTER III

AN INTERLUDE

And at the corner of Dam Straat, where the low postern gate cuts into
the tall stuccoed wall, there once more reigned silence as of the grave.

Those that were hurt and wounded had managed to crawl away, the town
guard had made short work of it all; the laws against street brawling
and noisy assemblies were over severe just now; it was best to hide a
wound and go nurse it quietly at home. Fortunately the fog favoured the
disturbers of the peace. Gradually they all contrived to sneak away, and
later on in the night to sally forth again for watch-night revelries,
looking for all the world as if nothing had happened.

"Tumult? Papist baiting? Was there really any Papist baiting this night?
Ah! these foreign adventurers do fill our peaceful city with their
noise."

In the Dam Straat the fog and the darkness reigned unchallenged. The
second torch lay extinguished on the ground, trampled out under the heel
of a heavy boot. And in the darkness three men were busy readjusting
their mantles and trying to regain possession of their hats.

"A very unprofitable entertainment," growled Socrates.

"Total darkness, not a soul in sight, and cold! fit to chill the inner
chambers of hell," assented Pythagoras.

"And no chance of adding anything to the stock of three guilders which
must suffice us for to-night," concluded Diogenes airily.

He was carefully wiping the shining blade of Bucephalus with the corner
of