“But what is worse,” continued the dame, “in one big kruller, as a surprise, I did hide a ring of gold sent to Gretel by her godmother in Holland, and that too is whisked away.” At this Gretel also began to bewail the loss, and suggested that perhaps little black Josie, Sophy’s son, was the miscreant. “If so it be, to the whipping-post shall he go!” cried the enraged Dutchwoman, starting for the kitchen; but before she reached the door Katrina exclaimed, “No, mother, no; Josie is not the one.” “Why, mine Katrina, what canst thou know of this?” asked Mynheer Van Twinkle, in amazement. “I know--I know who has taken the cakes,” stammered the blushing girl; “but tell I cannot now.” “Not tell!” gasped her mother. “Why and wherefore?” “Because my promise I have given. But when the night comes, then shall you know all.” “Foolishness is this, Katrina,” cried the good housewife, who was fast losing her temper as well as her cakes, “and at once I command you to say who has my New-Year krullers.” “And my ring from Rotterdam,” added Gretel. “But that I cannot. A lie would it be. Oh, my vader, canst thou not me trust until the nightfall?” “Surely, sweetheart. There, good vrouw, say no more, but leave the little one in peace. A promise thou wouldst not have her break.” “Some there be better broken than kept; but whom promised she?” Katrina was silent, and now even her father looked grave. “Speak, _mijn kind_; whom didst thou promise?” “I cannot tell.” “See you, Jacobus, ’tis stubborn she is, and wrong it looks. But list, Katrina; you shall speak this minute, or else to your chamber go, and there spend your New-Year’s Day.” At this mynheer puffed grimly at his pipe, and Gretel would have remonstrated, but without a word Katrina turned and left the parlor. Ascending to her little attic-room, she removed her holiday finery, and sat sadly down to work on her Flemish lace, trying to console herself by repeating: “Right am I, and I know I am right. A promise once given must not broken be,” while the New-Year callers came and went, and the sound of merry greetings floated up from below. So it was scarce a happy New-Year, and the little weathercock must have pointed very much to the east if he considered the way the wind blew within-doors, for even Jan turned fractious, and declared, “There was no fun in calling on a parcel of old _vrouws_,” and he should go to the turkey-shooting at Beekman’s Swamp instead. But this his mother forbade. “Shoot you will not this day,” she said, “for at fourteen, like a gentleman and a good Hollander should you behave. So start at once, and my greetings bear to the Van Pelts and Vander Voorts and Mistress Hogeboom,” while his father carried him off with him to call on the dominie’s wife.