[Illustration:  He marshalled the six children in front of him]

Hyde looked with curiosity at the complacent orator.  Bram rose, and, with a long-drawn whistle, left the room.  Joris said sternly, “Enough you have spoken, Batavius.  None are so blind as those who will not see.”

“Well, then, father, I can see what is in the way of mine own business; and it is a fixed principle with me not to meddle with the business of other people.  And look here, Joanna, the night is coming, and the dew with it, and Alida had sore throat yesterday:  we had better go.  Fast in sleep the children ought to be at this hour.”  And he bustled about them, tying on caps and capes; and finally, having marshalled the six children and their two nurses in front of him he trotted off with Joanna upon his arm, fully persuaded that he had done himself great credit, and acted with uncommon wisdom.  “But it belongs to me to do that, Joanna,” he said; “among all the merchants, I am known for my great prudence.”

“I think that my father and Bram will get into trouble in this matter.”

“You took the word out of my mouth, Joanna; and I will have nothing to do with such follies, for they are waxing hand over hand like the great winds at sea, till the hurricane comes, and then the ruin.”

The next morning was the Sabbath, and it broke in a perfect splendour of sunshine.  The New World was so new and fresh, and Katherine thought she had never before seen the garden so lovely.  Joris was abroad in it very early.  He looked at the gay crocus and the pale snowdrop and the budding pansies with a singular affection.  He was going, perchance, on a long warfare.  Would he ever return to greet them in the coming springs?  If he did return, would they be there to greet him?  As he stood pensively thoughtful, Katherine called him.  He raised his eyes, and watched her approach as he had been used when she was a child, a school-girl, a lovely maiden.  But never had she been so beautiful as now.  She was dressed for church in a gown of rich brown brocade over a petticoat of paler satin, with costly ornaments of gold and rubies.  As she joined her father, Hyde joined Lysbet in the parlour; and the two stood at the window watching her.  She had clasped her hands upon his shoulder, and leaned her beautiful head against them.  “A most perfect picture,” said Hyde, and then he kissed Lysbet; and from that moment they were mother and son.

They walked to church together; and Hyde thought how beautiful the pleasant city was that sabbath morning, with its pretty houses shaded by trees just turning green, its clear air full of the grave dilating harmony of the church-bells, its quiet streets thronged with men and women—­both sexes dressed with a magnificence modern Broadway beaux and belles have nothing to compare with.  What staid, dignified men in three-cornered hats and embroidered velvet coats and long plush vests!  What buckles and wigs and lace ruffles and gold snuff-boxes!  What beautiful women in brocades and taffetas, in hoops and high heels and gauze hats!  Here and there a black-robed dominie; here and there a splendidly dressed British officer, in scarlet and white, and gold epaulettes and silver embroideries!  New York has always been a highly picturesque city, but never more so than in the restless days of A.D. 1775.