ing out his hand in pleased surprise. “Welcome home! It has been a long time since you were able to visit us.”
“The affairs of the Prince of Orange are in such a disturbed condition that it is well-nigh impossible for me to leave Brussels. But it is good to be here. By the way, who was that hangdog knave whom I just met skulking off the premises?”
“It was a drunken, thieving groom whom I have just discharged.”
“I am glad to hear that. The man is a villain if ever there was one. It is such crop-eared rogues who should fill our jails and make the hangman's business good, instead of respectable, God-fearing burghers.”
“You are right, my son. Now let us find the good vrouw. I think we shall surprise her in the kitchen, giving her directions for the evening meal.”
They stole unobserved to the window and stood a moment gazing at the domestic scene. In the twilight the kitchen was the pleasantest spot in the house. It was a large, low room, with a brick floor and a wide hearth, flanked on each side by huge iron dogs, so massive that they could have supported with ease the trunk of a tree. Over this hung the ancient spit, within whose gloomy depths were strung necklaces of sausages and shapely hams to smoke. As the wood fire snapped and
