His intelligence and energy completely won the old Dutchman’s confidence, and more than once he had been entrusted with the delivery of supplies to the army in the field. It was not always possible for the military authorities to furnish convoys for these consignments, and they were therefore usually accompanied by well-armed men to guard against the danger of surprise by robbers and freebooters. Many small bands of outlaws were abroad in Holland and Germany, taking advantage of the disturbed state of the country to prey upon the inhabitants, under the pretence of making requisitions for one or other of the contending forces. These marauders terrorized the remoter districts. Hitherto Harry had been fortunate in avoiding any danger of this character. Grootz was as phlegmatic and silent as ever, but he showed in his quiet way that he was pleased with the lad’s unvarying diligence and success. Harry woke early. The sun was bright but the air cool, and he felt full of vigour, eager to set off on this the longest expedition he had yet taken. Mynheer Grootz was a bachelor, and his breakfast-table was served by a buxom old housekeeper who, after a brief season of jealousy, had capitulated to Harry’s cheerfulness and courtesy. At breakfast the merchant in his slow, ponderous manner repeated his customary warnings to Harry to guard against surprise, and to be punctilious about getting a formal receipt for his supplies from the commissary of the force to which they were to be delivered. "Here is de paper," he said, handing it to Harry. "Make him sign it; he may be a count or marquis or someding of de sort, and I trust none of dem." Harry laughed. "Put not your trust in princes" seemed to be the prime motto of his host’s business career. "Very well, Mynheer," he said. "And here is a packet I wish you to deliver. Not for de army, dis; no; it is for a vrient of mine dat live a few miles dis side of Helmund. I promised her a tulip bulb; dis is it." He handed to Harry a small packet, on which the address was written. "The Comtesse de Vaudrey," he read aloud. "That is a French name?" "Ja! De lady is French, a widow, of a family dat had to leave France because of the persecutions. She is French, but a vrient alzo. If you need help, she will give it." "I hope she is not a very great lady. I have met no lady here higher in rank than a burgomaster’s vrouw, and I thought she rather looked down on me." "The comtesse is mine vrient," repeated Grootz in a tone that implied there was no more to be said.