The New Land | Page 7

a flashing sword. So,
lost in dreaming, he wandered on down the quiet streets to the Wall
which marked the boundary of the Settlement.
Suddenly realizing that he was tired and hungry, Samuel threw himself
upon the grass, and taking his cookies from his pocket, began to munch
them contendedly, wondering just what heroic deed he should plan for
his next undertaking. But in the middle of a bite he stopped short,
sitting up suddenly and rubbing his eyes as though he had been asleep
and feared he was still dreaming.
There on the grass beside him sat a little girl, almost his own age he
judged; a little girl with golden hair and eyes as blue as the flowers
growing in the young grass about them. To the simple lad she seemed
as richly dressed as a fairy princess, for her frock was of flowered silk,
she wore silver buckles upon her little shoes, and her daintily flounced
cap was fastened at either ear with a quaint medallion of beaten gold.
Samuel took in all of these details slowly, half afraid to speak lest he
should drive away the delicate little creature, who had risen from the
grass and now stood poised for flight like a gaily tinted butterfly. Then
she spoke, and he knew there was very little of the fairy about her and
that she was almost as human as himself.
"Boy," she said in unmistakable Dutch, pointing to the half-eaten cake
in his hand, "boy, give me that. I am hungry." She spoke like one
accustomed to instant obedience, taking the cake without a word of
thanks and eating it prettily, her large blue eyes never leaving Samuel's
wondering face. When nothing remained, she again held out her hand,

with her pretty, imperious gesture. "More," said the little lady, and
Samuel gave her his last cooky, wishing heartily that he had brought
his mother's blue crockery jar along for the little lady's pleasure.
"I'm sorry," he said humbly, "but I ate the others before I knew you
were coming. They are good, aren't they? Does your mother ever bake
sugar cakes?" he ended in a desperate attempt to make conversation.
She shook her blond head. "My mother is dead," she told him. "She
was drowned and I would have been drowned, too, but a brave sailor
held me tight until he found a spar and he tied me to it and we floated
and floated and floated until a big ship passed us and brought us here."
She spoke between bites, very calmly, as though her tale, as thrilling as
any of Samuel's dream adventures, was no uncommon story for a
dainty little maid to tell on a spring morning.
"Now I know who you are," Samuel exclaimed, forgetting his shyness
in his delighted surprise. "Your name is Katrina and you live with the
governor and your mother was lost at sea."
Katrina, having finished her cooky, pensively picked up the few
crumbs from her lap as though she were still hungry. "I live with Uncle
Peter," she corrected. "He is very good to me and gives me pretty
presents;--he gave me these on my birthday," and she touched the gold
medallions upon her ears complacently. "Only he never lets me go out
and play alone like the other little girls who sometimes visit me say
they do, and I get tired of staying in the garden. And when I go out
walking with old black Daniel behind me, it is just as hard as staying at
home. I want little girls and boys to play with and take me places;--I
get tired of my dolls," she ended wistfully.
Samuel nodded with understanding sympathy. To have this little
stranger maid listen to his stories or follow him on his lonely rambles!
If he might even go to play with her sometimes in the garden behind
Peter Stuyvesant's house. He frowned at the thought: it was not hard to
picture the old governor falling into one of his rages at the insolence of
the Jewish boy who dared to walk down the garden path. And yet what
fun they would have had with every bush a mysterious fairy castle,

every tree a pirate ship to take them across the Main. He sighed
regretfully, turning to listen to his companion's bright chatter.
"I suppose they're looking all over for me," she laughed mischievously,
"cook and black Daniel and Uncle Peter, too. Won't he be cross! He
was so cross this morning when he got a letter from Holland, a big
letter with a big red seal, and he'll be crosser yet when I'm not home for
dinner." She tossed her sunny curls defiantly. "But he won't dare to
scold me; he'll scold everybody else and shake his cane at them,