The Bow of Orange Ribbon | Page 4

reach the New Jerusalem."
"Vera true, but there's a difference in mists. Noo, a Scotch mist isna at all unhealthy. When I was a laddie, I hae been out in them for a week thegither, ay, and felt the better o' them." He had taken off his plaid and bonnet as he spoke; and he drew the chair set for him in front of the blazing logs, and stretched out his thin legs to the comforting heat.
In the mean time, the girls had gone upstairs together; and their footsteps and voices, and Katherine's rippling laugh, could be heard distinctly through the open doors. Then Madam called, "Joanna!" and the girl came down at once. She was tying on her white apron as she entered the room; and, at a word from her mother, she began to take from the cupboards various Dutch dainties, and East Indian jars of fruits and sweetmeats, and a case of crystal bottles, and some fine lemons. She was a fair, rosy girl, with a kind, cheerful face, a pleasant voice, and a smile that was at once innocent and bright. Her fine light hair was rolled high and backward; and no one could have imagined a dress more suitable to her than the trig dark bodice, the quilted skirt, and the white apron she wore.
[Illustration: She was tying on her white apron]
Her father and mother watched her with a loving satisfaction; and though Elder Semple was discoursing on that memorable dispute between the Caetus and Conferentie parties, which had resulted in the establishment of a new independent Dutch church in America, he was quite sensible of Joanna's presence, and of what she was doing.
"I was aye for the ordaining o' American ministers in America," he said, as he touched the finger tips of his left hand with those of his right; and then in an aside full of deep personal interest, "Joanna, my dearie, I'll hae a Holland bloater and nae other thing. And I was a proud man when I got the invite to be secretary to the first meeting o' the new Caetus. Maybe it is praising green barley to say just yet that it was a wise departure; but I think sae, I think sae."
At this point, Katherine Van Heemskirk came into the room; and the elder slightly moved his chair, and said, "Come awa', my bonnie lassie, and let us hae a look at you." And Katherine laughingly pushed a stool toward the fire, and sat down between the two men on the hearthstone. She was the daintiest little Dutch maiden that ever latched a shoe,--very diminutive, with a complexion like a sea-shell, great blue eyes, and such a quantity of pale yellow hair, that it made light of its ribbon snood, and rippled over her brow and slender white neck in bewildering curls. She dearly loved fine clothes; and she had not removed her visiting dress of Indian silk, nor her necklace of amber beads. And in her hands she held a great mass of lilies of the valley, which she caressed almost as if they were living things.
"Father," she said, nestling close to his side, "look at the lilies. How straight they are! How strong! Oh, the white bells full of sweet scent! In them put your face, father. They smell of the spring." Her fingers could scarcely hold the bunch she had gathered; and she buried her lovely face in them, and then lifted it, with a charming look of delight, and the cries of "Oh, oh, how delicious!"
[Illustration: "Come awa', my bonnie lassie"]
Long before supper was over, Madam Van Heemskirk had discovered that this night Elder Semple had a special reason for his call. His talk of Mennon and the Anabaptists and the objectionable Lutherans, she perceived, was all surface talk; and when the meal was finished, and the girls gone to their room, she was not astonished to hear him say, "Joris, let us light another pipe. I hae something to speak anent. Sit still, gudewife, we shall want your word on the matter."
"On what matter, Elder?"
"Anent a marriage between my son Neil and your daughter Katherine."
The words fell with a sharp distinctness, not unkindly, but as if they were more than common words. They were followed by a marked silence, a silence which in no way disturbed Semple. He knew his friends well, and therefore he expected it. He puffed his pipe slowly, and glanced at Joris and Lysbet Van Heemskirk. The father's face had not moved a muscle; the mother's was like a handsome closed book. She went on with her knitting, and only showed that she had heard the proposal by a small pretence of finding it necessary to count the stitches in the heel she was turning. Still, there had been some faint,