arose concerning their expenses, the captain marched his company off to bed, led on by a greasy pioneer-boy who carried skates and a candlestick instead of an axe. One of the ill-favored men by the fire had shuffled toward the dresser, and was ordering a mug of beer, just as Ludwig, who brought up the rear, was stepping from the apartment. "I don't like that fellow's eye," he whispered to Carl; "he looks like a pirate, or something of that kind." "Looks like a granny!" answered Carl in sleepy disdain. Ludwig laughed uneasily. "Granny or no granny," he whispered, "I tell you he looks just like one of those men in the 'voetspoelen.'" "Pooh!" sneered Carl, "I knew it. That picture was too much for you. Look sharp now, and see if yon fellow with the candle doesn't look like the other villain." "No, indeed, his face is as honest as a Gouda cheese. But, I say, Carl, that really was a horrid picture." "Humph! What did you stare at it so long for?" "I couldn't help it." By this time the boys had reached the "beautiful room with three beds in it." A dumpy little maiden with long earrings met them at the doorway, dropped them a courtesy, and passed out. She carried a long-handled thing that resembled a frying-pan with a cover. "I am glad to see that," said Van Mounen to Ben. "What?" "Why, the warming-pan. It's full of hot ashes; she's been heating our beds." "Oh! a warming-pan, eh! Much obliged to her, I'm sure," said Ben, too sleepy to make any further comment. Meantime, Ludwig still talked of the picture that had made such a strong impression upon him. He had seen it in a shop window during their walk. It was a poorly-painted thing, representing two men tied back to back, standing on shipboard, surrounded by a group of seamen who were preparing to cast them together into the sea. This mode of putting prisoners to death was called _voetspoelen_, or feet-washing, and was practised by the Dutch upon the pirates of Dunkirk in 1605; and, again, by the Spaniards upon the Dutch, in the horrible massacre that followed the siege of Haarlem. Bad as the painting was, the expression upon the pirates' faces was well given. Sullen and despairing as they seemed, they wore such a cruel, malignant aspect, that Ludwig had felt a secret satisfaction in contemplating their helpless condition. He might have forgotten the scene by this time but for that ill-looking man by the fire. Now, while he capered about, boy-like, and threw himself with an antic into his bed, he inwardly hoped that the "voetspoelen" would not haunt his dreams.