ly at Rotterdam."

"My name is Catherine, young man. Kate, it will be Margaret."

"Ay, dame, she said to me, 'Good Luke, hie thee to Tergou, and ask for
Eli the hosier, and pray his wife Catherine to come to me, for God His
love.' I didn't wait for daylight."

"Holy saints! He has come home, Kate. Nay, she would sure have said so.
What on earth can it be?" And she heaped conjecture on conjecture.

"Mayhap the young man can tell us," hazarded Kate timidly.

"That I can," said Luke, "Why, her babe is a-dying, And she was so
wrapped up in it!"

Catherine started up: "What is his trouble?"

"Nay, I know not. But it has been peaking and pining worse and worse
this while."

A furtive glance of satisfaction passed between Cornelis and Sybrandt.
Luckily for them Catherine did not see it. Her face was turned towards
her husband. "Now, Eli," cried she furiously, "if you say a word against
it, you and I shall quarrel, after all these years.'

"Who gainsays thee, foolish woman? Quarrel with your own shadow, while I
go borrow Peter's mule for ye."

"Bless thee, my good man! Bless thee! Didst never yet fail me at a
pinch, Now eat your dinners who can, while I go and make ready."

She took Luke back with her in the cart, and on the way questioned and
cross-questioned him severely and seductively by turns, till she had
turned his mind inside out, what there was of it.

Margaret met her at the door, pale and agitated, and threw her arms
round her neck, and looked imploringly in her face.

"Come, he is alive, thank God," said Catherine, after scanning her
eagerly.

She looked at the failing child, and then at the poor hollow-eyed
mother, alternately, "Lucky you sent for me," said she, "The child is
poisoned."

"Poisoned! by whom?"

"By you. You have been fretting."

"Nay, indeed, mother. How can I help fretting?"

"Don't tell me, Margaret. A nursing mother has no business to fret. She
must turn her mind away from her grief to the comfort that lies in her
lap. Know you not that the child pines if the mother vexes herself? This
comes of your reading and writing. Those idle crafts befit a man;
but they keep all useful knowledge out of a woman. The child must be
weaned."

"Oh, you cruel woman," cried Margaret vehemently; "I am sorry I sent for
you. Would you rob me of the only bit of comfort I have in the world?
A-nursing my Gerard, I forget I am the most unhappy creature beneath the
sun."

"That you do not," was t