“Now, Widow Cloos,” continued the sailor, “I am Ffob Oothout, at your service!  I am a mariner.  Some years ago, when Jacob Alrichs was our director, I helped to build this great warehouse with my own hands.  They were good men, then, in charge of New Amstel’s government.  Thieves and jealous rogues have succeeded them.  Would you think it, they suspect even me, and ordered Nanking to whip me with the cat!  But for Nanking I should have a bloody back at this minute, and you would be wiping the brine out of it for me, I do not doubt!”

Nanking had gone out meantime, seeing that he was to get no clock-stockings.

“Widow, come hither,” said the sailor.  “Do you know I like this big barn of a warehouse.  It is my handicraft, you know, and that attaches me to it.  Well, you say nothing to anybody, and let me sleep in the river end.  In a little while the noble veteran, Alexander D’Hinoyosso, will be due from Holland on the ship Blue Cock.  Then we will all have good protection.  In that ship are lots of supplies of mine.  Of evenings we can court and drink liquor of my own mulling.  And when the Blue Cock comes to port you shall have more petticoats and high-heeled shoes than any beauty in New Amstel.”

Ffob Oothout stole a couple of kisses from the widow, like a bold sailor-man, and she promised that he should lodge in the river end of the Amsterdam warehouse.

For the rest of that afternoon Nanking carried Elsje’s beautiful doll, and his feelings were very much comforted.

“Big sweetheart,” she said, “what a smart man you would be if you could only make me a bigger doll than this, which would open and shut its eyes and cry ‘fus; hush!’”

Nanking left New Amstel at moonlight, at the head of a little procession, carrying gay cloths and plenty of rum for the Susquehannocks.  The last words Peter Alrichs said to him were:  “You must talk wisely, Nanking.  It is a mighty responsibility you have on this errand.  Remember Elsje!”

Next morning Nanking pushed off in a boat, all alone, from the Head-of-Elk, and rowed under the blue bar of mountain into the Chisopecke, and turned up the creek below the rocky mouth of the great river toward the council-fire retreat of the fierce Susquehannocks.  As he was about to step ashore a band of Englishmen confronted him, with swords and muskets.

“Whom art thou?” cried their leader, a stalwart man, with long mustaches.

“Only Nanking Cloos, mynheers, who used to be the big idiot of New Amstel.  But,” he added, with confidence, “I am now a great man on a very responsible mission to the Indians.  I am to talk much and wisely.  They are to send to New Amstel thousands of furs and peltries, and I am to give them this rum and finery!”

“He talks beautifully,” exclaimed the English; and the chief man added: 

“Nanking, I know thee well.  Thy mother is the pretty widow in the house by the river.  I am Colonel Utye, who swore so dreadfully when I summoned New Amstel to surrender.  Come ashore, Nanking.”