To the humble dwelling of Peter de Groodt, then, did Dolph turn his steps.  On his way thither, he recalled all the tenderness and kindness of his simple-hearted parent, her indulgence of his errors, her blindness to his faults; and then he bethought himself of his own idle, harum-scarum life.  “I’ve been a sad scape-grace,” said Dolph, shaking his head sorrowfully.  “I’ve been a complete sink-pocket, that’s the truth of it!—­But,” added he, briskly, and clasping his hands, “only let her live—­only let her live—­and I’ll show myself indeed a son!”

As Dolph approached the house, he met Peter de Groodt coming out of it.  The old man started back aghast, doubting whether it was not a ghost that stood before him.  It being bright daylight, however, Peter soon plucked up heart, satisfied that no ghost dare show his face in such clear sunshine.  Dolph now learned from the worthy sexton the consternation and rumour to which his mysterious disappearance had given rise.  It had been universally believed that he had been spirited away by those hobgoblin gentry that infested the haunted house; and old Abraham Vandozer, who lived by the great button-wood trees, at the three-mile stone, affirmed, that he had heard a terrible noise in the air, as he was going home late at night, which seemed just as if a flight of wild geese were overhead, passing off towards the northward.  The haunted house was, in consequence, looked upon with ten times more awe than ever; nobody would venture to pass a night in it for the world, and even the doctor had ceased to make his expeditions to it in the day-time.

It required some preparation before Dolph’s return could be made known to his mother, the poor soul having bewailed him as lost; and her spirits having been sorely broken down by a number of comforters, who daily cheered her with stories of ghosts, and of people carried away by the devil.  He found her confined to her bed, with the other member of the Heyliger family, the good dame’s cat, purring beside her, but sadly singed, and utterly despoiled of those whiskers which were the glory of her physiognomy.  The poor woman threw her arms about Dolph’s neck:  “My boy! my boy! art thou still alive?” For a time she seemed to have forgotten all her losses and troubles, in her joy at his return.  Even the sage grimalkin showed indubitable signs of joy, at the return of the youngster.  She saw, perhaps, that they were a forlorn and undone family, and felt a touch of that kindliness which fellow-sufferers only know.  But, in truth, cats are a slandered people; they have more affection in them than the world commonly gives them credit for.

The good dame’s eyes glistened as she saw one being, at least, beside herself, rejoiced at her son’s return.  “Tib knows thee! poor dumb beast!” said she, smoothing down the mottled coat of her favourite; then recollecting herself, with a melancholy shake of the head, “Ah, my poor Dolph!” exclaimed she, “thy mother can help thee no longer!  She can no longer help herself!  What will become of thee, my poor boy!”