The two men were shown into a sitting-room, and the youth disappeared. A moment later a slender girl of about seventeen whisked into the room with a lamp, put it on the table, and disappeared. But the light had shone upon her just long enough to show that she was very comely. The true Dutch type. Flaxen hair, straight forehead and nose, beautiful complexion, and faded blue eyes. The farm evidently belonged to people of some substance. The room, after the manner of the Dutch, was well furnished. Ponderously decorated with the same lack of proportion which is to be found in an English middle-class lodging-house. Harmonium and piano in opposite corners,--crude chromos and distorted prints upon the walls; artificial flowers, anaemic in colouring and glass-protected, on the shelves; unwieldy albums on the table; coarse crotchet drapings on the chairs; the Royal Family in startling pigments as an over-mantel. For the moment one might have fancied that it was Mrs Scroggins's best parlour in Woburn Square. After considerable whispering in the passage, the mother of the family, supported by two grown daughters and three children with wide-opened eyes, marched into the room. "Good evening," and there was a limp handshake all round. The attitude and expression of the good dame was combative. She was stout, slovenly, and forty. And the first impression was that she had once been what her pretty daughter was now at seventeen. There is nothing of the beauty of dignified age in the Dutch woman past her prime. "Where is your man?"[6] asked the Tiger. "He has gone to Richmond to sell the _scaapen_."[7] "And your sons?" "I have no sons." The Tiger threw open the photograph album on the table, and put his finger on a recent photo of two hairless youths in bandoliers. The likeness to the good lady in front of us was unmistakable. "Who are these?" "My sister's children," came the glib answer. "Good," said the Tiger, as he slipped the photograph out. "I shall keep this. Who is the young man who opened the door." "Bywoner."[8] "Good; then he can come along with us. How many boys have you on this farm?" "They have all gone with my man." "All right, I am going round to see--bring a candle. All right, don't make a fuss, my good lady. Don't take that lamp; the officer will stay here while I go out." The stout _frau_ produced a piece of paper, and laid it on the table with all the confidence of a poker-player displaying a Royal Flush. The Tiger picked it up and read:-- "This is to certify that Hans Pretorius can be implicitly trusted to give all assistance to the military authorities. He has furnished the required assurances. "(Signed) L----, _Resident Magistrate_."