"What thinking on, Big-eyes?" chirruped his mother, half reading his thoughts as she bustled about, preparing the dinner. "What thinking on? Why, Raff, would ye believe it, the child thought to carry half Amsterdam back on his head. Bless us! he would have bought as much coffee as would have filled this fire-pot; 'no--no--my lad,' says I, 'no time for leaks when the ship is rich laden'--and then how he stared--aye--just as he stares this minute. Hoot lad! fly around a mite. Ye'll grow to the chimney-place with your staring and wondering. Now, Raff, here's your chair at the head of the table, where it should be, for there's A MAN to the house now--I'd say it to the king's face. Aye, that's the way--lean on Hans; there's a strong staff for you! growing like a weed too, and it seems only yesterday since he was toddling. Sit by, my man, sit by." "Can you call to mind, vrouw," said Raff, settling himself cautiously in the big chair, "the wonderful music-box that cheered your working in the big house at Heidelberg?" "Aye, that I can," answered the dame, "three turns of a brass key, and the witchy thing would send the music fairly running up and down one's back--I remember it well--but, Raff," (growing solemn in an instant) "you would never throw our guilders away for a thing like that?" "No, no, not I, vrouw--for the good Lord has already given me a music-box without pay." All three cast quick, frightened glances at one another and at Raff--were his wits on the wing again? "Aye, and a music-box that fifty pouch-full would not buy from me," insisted Raff; "and it's set going by the turn of a mop handle, and it slips and glides around the room, everywhere in a flash, carrying the music about till you'd swear the birds were back again." "Holy St. Bavon!" screeched the dame, "what's in the man?" "Comfort and joy, vrouw, that's what's in him! Ask Gretel, ask my little music-box Gretel, if your man has lacked comfort and joy this day." "Not he, mother," laughed Gretel. "He's been _my_ music-box, too. We sang together half the time you were gone." "Aye, so," said the dame, greatly relieved. "Now, Hans, you'll never get through with a piece like that; but never mind, chick, thou'st had a long fasting; here, Gretel, take another slice of the sausage; it'll put blood in your cheeks." "Oh! Oh! mother," laughed Gretel, eagerly holding forth her platter, "blood don't grow in girls' cheeks--you mean roses--isn't it roses, Hans?" While Hans was hastily swallowing a mammoth mouthful in order to give a suitable reply to this poetic appeal, Dame Brinker settled the matter with a quick: "Well, roses or blood it's all one to me, so the red finds its way on your sunny face. It's enough for mother to get pale and weary-looking, without----" "Hoot, vrouw," spoke up Raff hastily, "thou'rt fresher and rosier this minute than both our chicks put together."