“Make your purchases quickly, Theresa, and come with me. I wish to speak with you. Do not delay.” Theresa gathered up her purchases and demanded the price. He gave such a moderate one, even for him, that Van Curter was astonished, and made no attempt to make the price less. “You have some conscience yet, Bainbridge,” he said. “Here is your money. Come, Theresa.” The girl followed him from the room, casting a glance back at the peddler, who had stooped over his pack, and was throwing out various articles, at the bidding of Katrine. “Do you know what I will bring from Boston when I come again?” said he. “No,” said Katrine, with a smile. “What?” “A ring and a minister.” “What for?” asked Katrine, in sublime unconsciousness. “If you don’t know now you will know then,” was the answer. “You’d better have this dress made up against that time.” With this he kissed her again, arranged his pack, and left the house, making his way back to the house of Paul Swedlepipe. CHAPTER IV. BOSTON “SHEATS” THE LEAN DUTCHMAN, AND TURNS UP IN HIS REAL CHARACTER. Boston found Paul Swedlepipe exercising the horse which he had so lately bought from him. Beyond a strong desire to get his hind feet higher than his head when hard pressed, and a tendency to roll upon his rider when spurred, Paul had no fault to find with his purchase. He found that the little beast really possessed great powers of endurance, and was tolerably swift. The truth of the matter was, Boston had purchased the pony for his own use, and not to _sell_. The pleasant little fiction on his part, in regard to his having been purchased for Mynheer Ten Eyck, was made up on the spur of the moment, to induce Swedlepipe to buy, for Boston never missed any opportunity for a trade. Not being cheated so badly as he expected, Swedlepipe was in good humor, and received the peddler with a smile, even while he restrained an attempt to kick on the part of the Narragansett. “Ah-ha! Boston. Dat you, eh? Dis pretty goot hoss; glad dat you not sheat me too mooch dis time. You come for dem guilders, eh?” “Not yet, mynheer. You see I’ve been pesky busy sense I left you. But I’ll keep my word. There comes Ten Eyck now.” “Yaw, dat is goot. Let me stant by vile you sheat him.” “I am only going to begin to-day. To-morrow I will finish,” replied Boston. The ancestor of that famous race, the Ten Eyck’s of our country, rode up at this moment. It may be well to mention that this man and Swedlepipe were hereditary foes, and lost no opportunity for inflicting loss upon each other. Ten Eyck had rather the best of the encounter, as he had heard the story of the horse sold to Swedlepipe a few months before, which had caused the quarrel between the peddler and Swedlepipe.