“So,” cried Coble, after the boat shoved off, “liberty’s stopped as well as singing.  What next, I wonder?  I sha’n’t stand this long.”

“No,” replied Short.

“Stop till he makes friends with the widow,” observed Bill Spurey; “she’ll get us all leave.”

“Mein Gott, he nebber say anyting before,” observed Jansen.

“No; we might almost go and come as we wished.  We must not stand this.”

“We won’t,” replied Jemmy Ducks.

“No,” replied Short.

While the crew of the cutter were in this incipient state of mutiny, Vanslyperken bent his steps to deliver up to the authorities the despatches with which he was charged; and having so done, he then took out the letter intrusted to him by Nancy Corbett and read the address.  It was the same street in which lived the Frau Vandersloosh.  This was awkward, as Vanslyperken did not want to be seen by her; but there was no help for it.  He trusted to her not seeing him, and he proceeded thither:  he ran down the numbers on the doors until he came to the right one, which was exactly opposite to the widow’s house:—­this was more unfortunate.  He rang the bell; it was some time before the door was opened, and while he was standing there he could not help looking round to see if any one saw him.  To his annoyance, there stood the widow filling up her door with her broad frame, and Babette peeping over her shoulder.  Mr Vanslyperken, as there was only the canal and two narrow roads between them, could do no less than salute her, but she took no notice of him farther than by continuing her stare.  At last, upon a second pulling of the bell, the door opened, and on Mr Vanslyperken saying that he had a letter for such an address, he was admitted, and the door immediately closed.  He was ushered into a room, the window-panes of which were painted green, so that no one outside could look in, and found himself in the presence of a tall man, in a clerical dress, who motioned to him to sit down.

Vanslyperken delivered the letter, and then took a seat.  The gentleman made a graceful bow, as if to ask permission to break the seal, and then opened the letter.

“Sir, I am obliged to you for charging yourself with these packets—­infinitely obliged to you.  You are in command of a sloop here, I believe.”

“A king’s cutter, sir,” replied Vanslyperken, with importance; “I am Lieutenant Vanslyperken.”

“I thank you, sir.  I will take down your name.  You expect, I presume, to be rewarded for this small service,” continued the gentleman, with a bland smile.

“Why, she must have told him,” thought Vanslyperken; who replied with another smile, “that he certainly trusted that he should be.”

Upon which reply, the other went to an escritoire, and taking out a bag, opened it and poured out a mass of gold, which made Vanslyperken’s mouth water, but why he did so Vanslyperken did not give a thought, until having counted out fifty pieces, the gentleman very gracefully put them into his hand, observing,