The whole of the crew of the cutter were invited, not, however, to feast at the widow’s expense; neither she nor the corporal would stand treat;—­but to spend their money in honour of the occasion.  And it must be observed, that since their arrival in port, the Yungfrau had spent a great deal of money at the widow’s; which was considered strange, as they had not, for some time, received any pay.  And it was further observed, that none appeared so wealthy as Smallbones and Corporal Van Spitter.  Some had asserted that it was the gold of Mr Vanslyperken, which had been appropriated by the crew to their own wants, considering themselves as his legitimate heirs.  Whether this be true or not, it is impossible to say; certain it is, that there was no gold found in Mr Vanslyperken’s cabin when his successor took possession of it.  And equally certain it was, that all the Yungfraus had their pockets full of gold, and that the major part of this gold did ultimately fall into the possession of the widow Vandersloosh, who was heard to say, that Mr Vanslyperken had paid the expenses of her wedding.  From these facts collected, we must leave the reader to draw what inference he may please.

The widow beautifully dressed;—­a white kersey petticoat, deep blue stockings, silver buckles in her shoes, a scarlet velvet jacket, with long flaps before and behind, a golden cross six inches long, suspended to a velvet ribbon, to which was attached, half-way between the cross and her neck, a large gold heart, gold ear-rings, and on her head an ornament, which, in Holland and Germany, is called a zitternabel, shook and trembled as she walked along to church, hanging on the arm of her dear corporal.  Some of the bridges were too narrow to admit the happy pair to pass abreast.  The knot was tied.  The name Vandersloosh was abandoned without regret, for the sharper one of Van Spitter; and flushed with joy, and the thermometer at ninety-six, the cavalcade returned home, and refreshed themselves with some beer of the Frau Van Spitter’s own brewing.

Let it not, however, be supposed, that they dined tete-a-tete; no, no—­the corporal and his wife were not so churlish as that.  The dinner party consisted of a chosen set, the most particular friends of the corporal.  Mr Short, first officer and boatswain, Mr William Spurey, Mr and Mrs Salisbury; and last, although not the least important person in this history, Peter Smallbones, Esquire, who having obtained money somehow, was now remarkable for the neatness of his apparel.  The fair widow, assisted by Moggy and Babette, cooked the dinner, and when it was ready came in from the kitchen as red as a fury and announced it:  and then it was served up, and they all sat down to table in the little parlour.  It was very close, the gentlemen took off their jackets, and the widow and Moggy fanned themselves, and the enormous demand by evaporation was supplied with foaming beer.  None could have done the honours of the table better than the corporal and his lady who sat melting and stuck together on the little fubsy sofa, which had been the witness of so much pretended and so much real love.