German, he would have known the language, and Squire
Smith declared that he didn't; if French (and his having that frog pond
made it seem likely), it would come out in his speech. No, there was
nothing he could be but Dutch. And, strangest of all, though the man
always pricked up his ears when you talked of Holland, he didn't seem to
know the first thing about the country when you put him to the point.

Anyhow, as no letters ever came to him from his mother's family in
Holland, and as nobody living had ever seen old Higgs, the family
couldn't be anything much. Probably Thomas Higgs himself was no better
than he should be, for all he pretended to carry himself so straight;
and for their parts, the gossips declared, they were not going to
trouble their heads about him. Consequently Thomas Higgs and his affairs
were never-failing subjects of discussion.

Picture, then, the consternation among all the good people when it
was announced by "somebody who was there and ought to know," that the
postboy had that very morning handed Higgs a foreign-looking letter, and
the man had "turned as white as the wall, rushed to his factory, talked
a bit with one of the head workmen, and without bidding a creature
good-bye, was off bag and baggage, before you could wink, ma'am."
Mistress Scrubbs, his landlady, was in deep affliction. The dear soul
became quite out of breath while speaking of him. "To leave lodgin's in
that suddent way, without never so much as a day's warnin', which was
what every woman who didn't wish to be trodden underfoot, which thank
hevving wasn't HER way, had a perfect right to expect; yes, and a week's
warnin' now you mention it, and without even so much as sayin' 'Many
thanks, Mistress Scrubbs, for all past kindnesses,' which was most
numerous, though she said it who shouldn't say it; leastwise she wasn't
never no kind of person to be lookin' for thanks every minnit. It was
really scanderlous, though to be sure Mister 'iggs paid up everythin' to
the last farthin' and it fairly brought tears to my eyes to see his dear
empty boots lyin' there in the corner of his room, which alone showed
trouble of mind for he always stood 'em up straight as solgers, though
bein' half-soled twice they hadn't, of course, been worth takin' away."

Whereupon her dearest friend, Miss Scrumpkins, ran home to tell all
about it. And, as everybody knew the Scrumpkinses, a shining gossamer of
news was soon woven from one end of the street to