“Van Volkenberg: one of the patroons I think.” “Ah, yes, Patroon Kilian; the armed patroon is what the burghers call him. We know him well.” “Is he in New York now?” “Yes, indeed. He never leaves the island. Kilian Van Volkenberg is too great a man to let himself go far from port. His ships need his attention every day. Now, when I saw yon ship in the offing, I said to myself, ’Tis a ship of the patroon’s.’ But you seem to say not.” I had said nothing of the kind; but I let the matter pass without correction, knowing that it was only another effort on his part to learn the mystery of my arrival. “How can I get to New York from here?” I asked after a short pause. “There is a good road direct, not more than eight or ten miles, with a ferry at the end of it. You will see a tree with a shell tied up to blow for the ferryman—he is likely to be on the Yorke side of the river. Can you blow a shell?” I could not, never having seen this custom before, whereupon the obliging host bustled out to find one. He returned shortly with a huge sea shell in his hands, by means of which he instructed me in the manner of using it as a horn. The trick was not difficult to learn, not so hard by half as whistling with your fingers in your mouth, which feat I never did learn to do well. But after five minutes practice with the shell I could blow as mournful a tone as you ever heard on the moors of a spooky night. My music lesson over, I went to my room. As soon as I was alone I took out the pocket Bible that had been the companion of all my wanderings. I opened it at the book of Ruth; this book was my favorite reading, for my sister’s name was Ruth. My separation from her long years before this, my great search and heavy disappointment had at last led me to this point in my wanderings. But there was still a strong hope in my heart; and hope will keep the pulse bounding even when the shadows are dark. But before I continue my story, let me go back and relate the strange events which resulted in my being set on shore in the dead of night like a criminal, from one of the ships which was under the displeasure of his royal majesty the king. When I was but a lad of three and twenty my parents both died and I was left the only protector of little Ruth, my sister, who was then a child, scarce fifteen years of age. She was a bright-faced, cheery sister, who did as much as a full-grown woman could have done to make our modest home in Paris comfortable and happy. I prized her more than life and would not let her go out of my sight. In this respect the more caution was needed because the long Huguenot peace was drawing to a close and people of our faith were subject to all manner of persecution.