“Ha!” exclaimed the bold smuggler.  “Van Swearingen, dat is voor u!  That is for you!”

“Vore God!” exclaimed the schout; “am I exposed and mocked by this idiot?”

He took up the whip and beat Nanking so hard that the strong young man had to disarm his uncle of the instrument.  Then, stripped of his fine clothes and restored to his rags, Nanking was returned with contempt to his mother’s house.

“Mother!” he cried, throwing himself upon the floor, “am I an idiot because I cannot hurt others?  No, I will be a fool, but not whip-master!”

The shrewd Peter Alrichs came to the widow’s abode and asked to see Nanking.  He brought with him the worshipful Beeckman, lord of all South River, except New Amstel’s little territory, which reached from Christine Hill to Bombay Hook.  They both put long questions to Nanking, and he showed them his burnt heel, still scarred by the fagots of the Susquehannocks.

“Ik houd dat voor waar! I believe it is true,” they said to each other.  “They were burning him at the stake and he did not know it.  Yes, his feeble mind saved him!”

“Not at all,” protested Nanking.  “It was because I thought no evil of anybody.”

“Hearken, Nanking!” said Peter Alrichs, very soberly.  “And you, Mother Cloos, come hither too.  This boy can make our fortunes if we can make him fully comprehend us.”

“Yah, mynheers!”

“He can return in safety to the land of the Susquehannocks, where no other Dutchman can go and live.  Thence, down the great river of rocks and rapids, come all the valuable furs.  Of these we Dutch on South River receive altogether only ten thousand a year.  Nanking must take some rum and bright cloth to his friends, the chiefs, and make them promise to send no more furs to the English of Chisopecke, but bring them to Head-of-Elk.  There we will make a treaty, and Nanking and thee, widow, shall have part of our profits.”

“Zeer wel!” cried Nanking.  “That is very well.  But Elsje, may I marry her, too?”

“Well,” said Peter Alrichs, smiling, “you can come to see her sometimes and carry her doll.”

“Good enough!” cried Nanking, overjoyed.

Before Nanking started on his trip, the sailor-man he had refused to whip walked into his mother’s house.

“Widow Cloos, no doubt,” he said, bowing.  “Madame, I owe your son a service.  Here are three petticoats and a pair of blue stockings with red clocks; for I see that your ankles still have a fine turn to them.”

The widow courtesied low; for she had not received a compliment in seven years.

Nanking now began to show his leg also, as modestly as possible.

“Ah!  Nanking,” cried the sailor, “I have a piece of good Holland stuff for you to make you shirts and underclothes.  ’Tis a pity so good a boy has not a rich father; ha! widow?”

The widow stooped very low again, but had the art to show her ankle to the best advantage, though she blushed.  She said it was very lonely for her in the New World.