The Bow of Orange Ribbon | Page 3

make a low bow, that is all."
"Well, well! with time, every one gets into his right place. In the City
Hall, I may yet put my chair beside his, Van Gaasbeeck."
"So say I, Sluyter; and, for the present, it is all well as it is."
This little envious fret of his neighbour lost itself outside Joris Van
Heemskirk's home. Within it, all was love and content. He quickly
divested himself of his fine coat and ruffles, and in a long scarlet vest,
and a little skull-cap made of orange silk, sat down to smoke. He had
talked a good deal in the City Hall, and he was now chewing
deliberately the cud of his wisdom over again. Madam Van Heemskirk
understood that, and she let the good man reconsider himself in peace.

Besides, this was her busy hour. She was giving out the food for the
morning's breakfast, and locking up the cupboards, and listening to
complaints from the kitchen, and making a plaster for black Tom's
bealing finger. In some measure, she prepared all day for this hour, and
yet there was always something unforeseen to be done in it.
[Illustration: Locking-up the cupboards]
She was a little woman, with clear-cut features, and brown hair drawn
backward under a cap of lace very stiffly starched. Her tight fitting
dress of blue taffeta was open in front, and looped up behind in order to
show an elaborately quilted petticoat of light-blue camblet. Her white
wool stockings were clocked with blue, her high-heeled shoes cut very
low, and clasped with small silver buckles. From her trim cap to her
trig shoes, she was a pleasant and comfortable picture of a happy,
domestic woman; smiling, peaceful, and easy to live with.
When the last duty was finished, she let her bunch of keys fall with a
satisfactory "all done" jingle, that made her Joris look at her with a
smile. "That is so," she said in answer to it. "A woman is glad when she
gets all under lock and key for a few hours. Servants are not made
without fingers; and, I can tell thee, all the thieves are not yet hung."
"That needs no proving, Lysbet. But where, then, is Joanna and the
little one? And Bram should be home ere this. He has stayed out late
more than once lately, and it vexes me. Thou art his mother, speak to
him."
"Bram is good; do not make his bridle too short. Katherine troubles me
more than Bram. She is quiet and thinks much; and when I say, 'What
art thou thinking of?' she answers always, 'Nothing, mother.' That is not
right. When a girl says, 'Nothing, mother,' there is something--perhaps,
indeed, _somebody_--on her mind."
"Katherine is nothing but a child. Who would talk love to a girl who
has not yet taken her first communion? What you think is nonsense,
Lysbet;" but he looked annoyed, and the comfort of his pipe was gone.
He put it down, and walked to a side-door, where he stood a little while,

watching the road with a fretful anxiety.
"Why don't the children come, then? It is nearly dark, and the dew falls;
and the river mist I like not for them."
"For my part, I am not uneasy, Joris. They were to drink a dish of tea
with Madam Semple, and Bram promised to go for them. And, see,
they are coming; but Bram is not with them, only the elder. Now, what
can be the matter?"
"For every thing, there are more reasons than one; if there is a bad
reason, Elder Semple will be sure to croak about it. I could wish that
just now he had not come."
"But then he is here, and the welcome must be given to a caller on the
threshold. You know that, Joris."
"I will not break a good custom."
Elder Alexander Semple was a great man in his sphere. He had a
reputation for both riches and godliness, and was scarcely more
respected in the market-place than he was in the Middle Kirk. And
there was an old tie between the Semples and the Van Heemskirks,--a
tie going back to the days when the Scotch Covenanters and the
Netherland Confessors clasped hands as brothers in their "churches
under the cross." Then one of the Semples had fled for life from
Scotland to Holland, and been sheltered in the house of a Van
Heemskirk; and from generation to generation the friendship had been
continued. So there was much real kindness and very little ceremony
between the families; and the elder met his friend Joris with a grumble
about having to act as "convoy" for two lasses, when the river mist
made the duty so unpleasant.
"Not to say dangerous," he added, with a