Then he inquired from his new acquaintance the name of the wine-shop and the brand of the wine. He put his hand to his side and rattled a little alarm shaped like a triangle. In a trice a young beardless youth appeared, all whose body incessantly wriggled and squirmed, like a puppy's which fears the rod or desires the milk-pail. "Here, restless one!" cried Black Peter Hals, "go swiftly to the Inn of the Gouda Cheese, and bring from thence a jar of the wine of Hochheim. And, hark ye, also a couple of bottles of Hollands of the best brands. Here is money for thee to pay for all." He went to the door with the wriggler. "Now, do you understand?" he said, in a loud tone. And then, under his breath, he added, "Come not too soon back. An you so much as show your ugly face here for an hour and a half, with the buckle of a belly-band I will thrash the soul out of your miserable, whimpering body." "I would as lief stop by the fire and watch," said the object, casting a sheep's-glance at the country-maid, who stood warming her toes, one pretty foot held up to the blaze; "if, perchance, it might be Mynheer Peter's desire to refresh himself at the sign of the Gouda Cheese for an hour, as is his custom of a night." "Out with thee, wastrel!" cried Peter, angrily, kicking him down the steps; "and mind, come not back for an hour on the peril of your life, and the flaying off of thy skin in handbreadths." So saying, Peter went back into the wide stone hall. He found his dainty new friend sweeping up the fireplace and setting the sticks for kindling in order at the back. "We always do it so in our village," she said, simply, "but the men in cities and in great castles like this have, of course, no time for such trifles." "What is your name, pretty maiden?" asked Peter, standing up beside her as she knelt and swept vigorously, raising a rare dust--and, to any eyes but those of a man, doing the work most awkwardly. "I am called 'the Little Marie,'" said the girl, demurely, "but, of course, among those who are not my friends I am called by another name." "Then I will call you 'the Little Marie'!" said Black Peter, in high delight, "and never so much as ask that other name, which is but for strangers." He went to a cupboard in the wall which was labelled in large letters "Holy Bibles and Catechisms for the Use of the Prisoners." The jailer opened this most respectable and necessary receptacle, and took from it a square black bottle, short-necked and square-shouldered, a few hard biscuits such as seamen use, and two large, wide-mouthed glasses of twisted Venetian glass. He came back with all these in his arms, and set them down together on the table. "Now," he said, coaxingly, "sit you down, Little Marie, and I will bring some water from the pitcher behind the door there. A glass of fine Hollands will keep out the chills of this night, for the wind is both shrewd and snell."