Nanking felt very proud to be recognized thus and receive such compliments for his mother.  The English poured out a big flagon of French brandy and gravely drank his health, touching their foreheads with their thumbs.  The brandy elated and exalted Nanking very much.

“Nanking,” said Colonel Utye, “we desire to spare thee a long journey and much danger.  Leave here thy rum and presents, and return to thy patrons, Alrichs and Beeckman, bearing our English gratitude, and thou shalt wear a beautiful hat, such as the King of England allows only his jester to put upon his head.”

Nanking felt very much obliged to these kind gentlemen.  They made the hat of the red cloth he had brought.  It was like a tall steeple on a house, and was at least three feet long.  As proud as possible he re-entered New Amstel on the evening of the day after he left it.  It was now within a few days of Christmas, and the Dutch burghers and boors, and Swedes, English and Finns, were anticipating that holiday by assembling at the two breweries which the town afforded, and quaffing nightly of beer.  Beeckman and Alrichs were interested in the largest brewery, and their beer was sent by Appoquinimy in great hogsheads to the English of Maryland in exchange for butts of tobacco.

As Nanking walked into the big room where fifty men were drinking, his prodigious red hat rose almost to the ceiling, and was greeted by roars of laughter.

“Goeden avond!  Hoe yaart gij! How do you do, my bully?”

Nanking bowed politely, and singling out Beeckman and Alrichs, stood before them with child-like joy.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I gave all your presents to the noble Colonel Utye, who sends his deepest gratitude, and presented me with this exalted cap in acknowledgment of my capacity.”

“Thou idiot!” exclaimed Beeckman; “’tis a dunce’s cap!”

“Dunder and blitzen!” swore Peter Alrichs, “hast thou lost all our provision and made fools of us, too?”

They struck the dunce’s cap off Nanking’s head with their staves, and threw their beer in his face.

“Two hundred guilders are we out of pocket,” cried both these great men.  “Was ever such a brainless dolt in our possessions?”

The room rang with the cry, “Incurable idiot!” and Gerrit Van Swearingen cried louder than any, “Go drown thyself, and spare thy mother shame!”

“Then I shall not marry Elsje?” exclaimed Nanking, bursting into tears.

“No!” stormed Peter Alrichs; “thou shalt marry a calf.  Away!”

When Nanking arrived home he found his mother sitting very close to Ffob Oothout.  He told his tale with a broken heart.

“My man,” exclaimed the rough sailor, in his kindest tone, but still very rough, “take this advice from me:  Whatever thou believest, tell it not.  Where thy head is weak, hold thy teeth tight.  Then thou canst still have faith in many things, and make no grief.”