“Ah, Tobias!  We sat hand in hand that evening till ten o’clock as we had sat together in the moonlight on the banks of the Scheldt before we were married.  But we did other things, too, on that day, lots of other things.  What did we do?  Do you remember, Tobias?”

“Oh! oh! we made golden apple pancakes; I can smell them now.  I wanted you to teach me how to toss them, but I tossed two into the fire, and the third fell into the cat’s mouth.  Yes, yes, Nelle, I remember.”

“Now, my man, we must make apple pancakes again in memory of that happy evening; I have brought shavings to light the fire.  One day, Riekje and Dolf will recall the good festival of Saint Nicholas as we now recall it.”

It was thus that the boatman, Tobias Jeffers, spoke to his wife Nelle, on board the Guldenvisch.

The Guldenvisch, which had been thus named from the pretty gold-fish which shone afore and aft on her prows, was Hendrik Shippe’s best boat, and he had entrusted it to the care of Tobias Jeffers, his ablest boatman.  There was not a smarter looking craft in Termonde, nor one better fitted for hard work.  It was a pleasure to watch her glide along, her waist well under water, laden with corn, wood, straw, or provisions; to see, too, her big brown hull set off with red and blue lines, her prows ornamented with the long smooth-scaled gold-fish, her shining bridge and her little cloud of smoke curling out of the black painted funnel.

That day, the Guldenvisch, like all the other boats on the Scheldt, had stopped work.  She was anchored to a strong rope, and toward seven in the evening there was nothing to be seen but the light on the top of the funnel, and the port-holes, round and bright as cod’s eyes.

Preparations for the feast of St. Nicholas were in full swing in the little room under the bridge; two candles burned in the brass candle-sticks, and the stove roared like water which rushes from a lock when the gates are opened.

The good Nelle pushed the door and Tobias went in quietly, thinking of the happy days which he had just recalled.

“Maman Nelle,” said a young voice, “I can see the round windows lighting up everywhere one after the other on the dark water.”

“Yes, Riekje,” Nelle replied, “but it is not to see the windows lighted up on the water that you stay near the window, but to see if that fine lad, Dolf, is not coming back to the boat.”

Riekje laughed.

“Maman Nelle sees straight into my heart,” said she, sitting down near the fire, and stitching away at a baby’s cap, which she held in her hand.

“Who could not see straight into the heart of a woman who is in love with her husband, Riekje?” asked old Nelle.

As she spoke she took off the top of the stove and put the pot on the fire, much to its delight, for it began to hiss like the rocket sent off from the market-place the day before in honor of the election of a new mayor.  Then Nelle wetted her finger and snuffed the candles, and the flame which had been flickering unsteadily at the end of the black wick burned brightly again and lit up the little room with a beautiful quiet light.