them both. I felt sure you would come back one day, and I wanted you, to say nothing of the children, to find things the same as you left them.'
"'I thank you, Van Groot.'
"'There is only our poor Buchold . . .'
"'What do you mean, Simon? we are all mortal.'
"'Alas! you will never find her like again.'
"'No, I should think not.'
"We fell into each other's arms, and mingled our tears. Van Groot and I; then we settled up our accounts. I paid him back the price of house and furniture, which I intended should be Margaret's some day.
"Then I invested six thousand francs for each of the three boys, keeping the interest for my own use till their coming of age. Last of all, I put aside nine thousand francs as my own share, that I might never be a burden to anybody, and only have to put my hand in my pocket to find my bottle of schnapps, rum and rack-punch handy."
"And you have never seen the Buchold again? " I asked him.
"Oh! yes, once. She came to tell me that I was rid of her for ever, as she had just been married again to Simon Van Groot, who had been buried the day before; the old scamp, he had asked to be interred beside her.
"So you see," added Père Olifus, draining his last glass of the rack-punch, " I am well rid of her, for this world and the next. At least, I hope so!"
Thereupon he broke into a laugh that was peculiar to the man, and slipped under the table, whence next moment came a sound of snoring that left us in no doubt as to the peacefulness of the slumbers which had just descended on this simple heart, this conscience void of offence!
At the same moment the door opened; I turned, and heard a soft tuneful voice speaking. It was Margaret who appeared on the threshold, a lamp in her hand.
"It is time, gentlemen," she said, "you were in bed. I will show you to your room. My poor father has tired you out, I am afraid, with his stories? But we must not be too hard on him. He spent six years in the madhouse at Horn, whilst our poor mother was still alive. He was discharged only partially cured. His brain is full of fancies and fairy-tales, especially when he indulges in over-much strong waters—which often happens. He will be sane enough when he wakes up, and completely forget, as he always does, all about his voyages to the Indies, which never happened except in his disordered brain."
We went to bed after this explanation, which certainly struck us as infinitely less improbable than all the rigmarole old Olifus had reeled off. Next morning we asked to see him to say goodbye; but we were told that he had set off at daybreak to take a traveller to Stavoren.
Consequently we left Monnikendam without knowing which had been telling us lies, the old toothless mouth of Père Olifus, or his daughter Margarefs pretty fresh lips.
However, there was one circumstance prejudiced us against the fair hostess of the Bonhomme Trophique; whereas the night before she had talked to us only by signs, suddenly next morning she had found herself able to speak excellent French, wherein to give us the explanation above detailed.
It is for such persons as have been in the Indies to judge whether Père Olifus ever really visited the countries of which he has given an account, and which we in turn have described on his responsibility, or whether he merely viewed Madagascar, Ceylon, Negombo, Goa, Calicut, Manilla and Bedondo from the windows of the madhouse at Horn.
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
DUKE STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.E., AND GREAT WINDMILL STREET, W.
