my soul, it looked very comical yesterday, when
the ravens were not to be seen; a fellow couldn't look at it without
laughing. Half Leyden was there, and we went with the crowd. There was
such an uproar on the grass-plot yonder. Dudeldum--Hubutt,
Hubutt--Dudeldum--fiddles squeaking and bag-pipes droning as if they
never would stop. The crazy throng shouted amidst the din; the noise
still rings in my ears. There was no end to the games and dancing. The
lads tossed their brown, blue and red-stockinged legs in the air, just as
the fiddle played--the coat-tails flew and, holding a girl clasped in the
right arm and a mug of beer high over their heads till the foam
spattered, the throng of men whirled round and round. There was as much
screaming and rejoicing as if every butter-cup in the grass had been
changed into a gold florin. But to-day--holy Florian--this is a rain!"

"It will do the things up there good," exclaimed the baron. "The tinder
grows damp in such a torrent, or I'd take out my pistols and shoot the
shabby liberty hat and motley tatters off the tree."

"That was the dancing ground," said the man, pointing to a patch of
trampled grass.

"The people are possessed, perfectly possessed," cried the baron,
"dancing and rejoicing to-day, and tomorrow the wind will blow the
felt-hat and flag from the tree, and instead of the black puppet they
themselves will come to the gallows. Steady roan, steady! The hail
frightens the beasts. Unbuckle the portmanteau, Gerrit, and give your
young master a blanket."

"Yes, my lord. But wouldn't it be better for you to go in here until the
shower is over? Holy Florian!

"Just see that piece of ice in your horse's mane! It's as large as a
pigeon's egg. Two horses are already standing under the shed, and
Quatgelat's beer isn't bad." The baron glanced inquiringly at his son.

"Let us go in," replied Nicolas; "we shall get to the Hague early enough.
See how poor Balthasar is shivering! Henrica says he's a white boy
painted; but if she could see how well he keeps his color in this
weather, she would take it back."

Herr Van Wibisma turned his dripping, smoking steed, frightened by the
hail-stones, towards the house, and in a few minutes crossed the
threshold of the inn with his son.

CHAPTER VI.

A current of warm air, redolent of beer and food, met the travellers as
they entered the large, low room, dimly lighted by the tiny windows,
scarcely more than loop-holes, pierced