The stranger smiled at the children, but advanced without delay into the hut, in one corner of which a man was busy making besoms, while a woman sat with her spinning-wheel by the hearth. These people could not be more than thirty years of age, and at the first glance might be perceived their contentment with their lot. For the rest, all around them looked as clean as country life within such narrow space will allow. The stranger’s entrance obviously surprised them, although they received him with kindness and offered him their services. They were clearly of opinion that he wanted to inquire his way, for the husband put himself in readiness to go and show it him. But he asked with evident emotion whether Rosa lived there: and the husband and wife cast astonished looks at each other, and could scarcely find words to answer him. “Yes, good sir,” said the man at length: “Rosa lives here; but at present she is gone out a-begging. Do you wish to speak with her?” “God! God!” exclaimed the traveler. “Cannot you quickly find her?” “That would be difficult to do, sir: she has gone out with Trientje, to make her round for the week; but we expect her in an hour’s time, she never stays out.” “Can I wait for her here, good friends?” Scarcely had he uttered the words, before the man hastened into the next room, and fetched thence an easy-chair, which—although of rude workmanship—appeared more inviting than the still ruder chairs which stood in the outer room. Not satisfied with this, the wife took out of a chest a white cushion, which she laid in the chair, and requested the stranger to sit down. He was astonished at the simple but well-meant attention, and returned the cushion with many thanks. He then sat down in silence, and let his eyes glance round the room, as if to discover something which might speak of Rosa. As his head was thus turned aside, he felt a small hand gently thrust into his, and his fingers stroked. He looked round curiously to discover who bestowed on him this mark of friendliness, and he met the blue eyes of the boy, who—with heavenly innocence—looked up to him, as if he had been his father or brother. “Come here, Peterken,” said the mother; “thou shouldst not be so forward, dear child.” But Peterken did not seem to hear this warning, and continued to hold the hand of the stranger, and look at him. The stranger found the friendship of the child unaccountable, and said— “Dear child, thy blue eyes penetrate deep into my soul. As thou art so friendly, I will give thee something.” He put his hand into his pocket, and took out a little purse, with silver clasp and pearls, that changed color in the light, and gave it to him, after he had dropped into it some pieces of money. The boy gazed on the purse with great delight, but did not let go the stranger’s hand. The mother approached, and desired the child to go away. “Peterken,” said she, “thou wilt not be rude: thank the gentleman, and kiss his hand.”