[Illustration:  Lysbet’s hands gave it to them]

It was to be the last evening at home for Joris and Bram and Hyde, and Everything was done to make it a happy memory.  The table was laid with the best silver and china; all the dainties that the three men liked best were prepared for them.  The room was gay with flowers and blue and orange ribbons, and bows of the same colours fluttered at Lysbet’s breast and on Katherine’s shoulder.  And as they went up and down the house, they were both singing,—­singing to keep love from weeping, and hope and courage from failing; Lysbet’s thin, sweet voice seeming like the shadow of Katherine’s clear, ringing tones,—­

“Oh, for the blue and the orange,
Oh, for the orange and the blue! 
Orange for men that are free men,
Blue for men that are true. 
Over the red of the tyrant,
Bloody and cruel in hue,
Fling out the banner of orange,
With pennant and border of blue. 
Orange for men that are free men,
Blue for men that are true.”

So they were singing when Joris and his sons came home.

There had been some expectation of Joanna and Batavius, but at the last moment an excuse was sent.  “The child is sick, writes Batavius; but I think, then, it is Batavius that is afraid, and not the child who is sick,” said Joris.

“To this side and to that side and to neither side, he will go; and he will miss all the good, and get all the bad of every side,” said Bram contemptuously.

“I think not so, Bram.  Batavius can sail with the wind.  All but his honour and his manhood he will save.”

“That is exactly true,” continued Hyde.  “He will grow rich upon the spoils of both parties.  Upon my word, I expect to hear him say, ’Admire my prudence.  While you have been fighting for an idea, I have been making myself some money.  It is a principle of mine to attend only to my own affairs.’”

After supper Bram went to bid a friend good-by; and as Joris and Lysbet sat in the quiet parlour, Elder Semple and his wife walked in.  The elder was sad and still.  He took the hands of Joris in his own, and looked him steadily in the face.  “Man Joris,” he said, “what’s sending you on sic a daft-like errand?”

Joris smiled, and grasped tighter his friend’s hand.  “So glad am I to see you at the last, Elder.  As in you came, I was thinking about you.  Let us part good friends and brothers.  If I come not back”—­

“Tut, tut!  You’re sure and certain to come back; and sae I’ll save the quarrel I hae wi’ you until then.  We’ll hae mair opportunities; and I’ll hae mair arguments against you, wi’ every week that passes.  Joris, you’ll no hae a single word to say for yoursel’ then.  Sae, I’ll bide my time.  I came to speak anent things, in case o’ the warst, to tell you that if any one wants to touch your wife or your bairns, a brick in your house, or a flower in your garden-plat, I’ll stand by all that’s yours, to the last shilling I hae, and nane shall harm them.  Neil and I will baith do all men may do.  Scotsmen hae lang memories for either friend or foe.  O Joris, man, if you had only had an ounce o’ common wisdom!”