His nationality was a great puzzle. The English name spoke plain enough for _one_ side of his house, but of what manner of nation was his mother? If she'd been an American, he'd certain have had high cheek-bones and reddish skin; if a German, he would have known the language, and Squire Smith declared he didn't; if French (and his having that frog-pond made it seem likely) it would come out in his speech. No--there was nothing he could be but Dutch. And strangest of all, though the man always pricked up his ears when you talked of Holland, he didn't seem to know the first thing about the country when you put him to the point. Anyhow, as no letters ever came to him from his mother's family in Holland, and as nobody living had ever seen old Higgs, the family couldn't be anything much. Probably Thomas Higgs himself was no better than he should be, for all he pretended to carry himself so straight; and for their parts, the gossips declared, they were not going to trouble their heads about him. Consequently Thomas Higgs and his affairs were never-failing subjects of discussion. Picture, then, the consternation, among all the good people when it was announced by "somebody who was there and ought to know," that the post-boy had that very morning handed Higgs a foreign-looking letter, and the man had "turned as white as the wall; rushed to his factory, talked a bit with one of the head work-men, and without bidding a creature good-bye, was off bag and baggage before you could wink, ma'am." Mistress Scrubbs, his landlady, was in deep affliction. The dear soul became quite out of breath while speaking of him--"to leave lodgin's in that suddent way, without never so much as a day's warnin' which was what every woman who didn't wish to be trodden underfoot, which thank Hevving wasn't _her_ way, had a perfect right to expect; yes, and a week's warnin' now you mention it, and without even so much as sayin' many thanks to you, Mistress Scrubbs, for all past kindnesses which was most numerous though she said it who shouldn't say it; leastwise she wasn't never no kind of a person to be lookin' for thanks every minnit--it was really scanderlous, though to be sure Mister 'iggs paid up everythin' to the last farthin' and it fairly brought tears to her eyes to see his dear empty boots lyin' there in the corner of his room, which alone showed trouble of mind for he always stood 'em up straight as solgers though bein' half-soled twice they hadn't of course been worth takin' away." Whereupon her dearest friend, Miss Scrumpkins, ran home to tell all about it. And, as everybody knew the Scrumpkinses, a shining gossamer of news was soon woven from one end of the street to the other.