The comrades drew back into the forest and waited for evening, because Geoffrey would not advance alone, and Von Donck dared not risk his life among the Puritans, who were at war with the people of New Netherlands. They partook of their last meal together, and when the shadow of night grew heavy upon the fields, Pieter rose and shook himself. "We have now come to the parting of our ways," he muttered. "You are among your people. We will together cross yonder fields, and then you shall wish me God-speed. The town of Boston lies upon your right hand. I shall beat inland at the base of Connecticut, until I reach the bank of Hudson's River, and there I am upon my own territory where no man shall lead me. I shall ride beside the river until I come to the little city of the Manhattoes, where William Kieft rules. San Nicolas! How old Will the Testy shall stare and blow at his pipe when he sees Pieter von Donck on the steps of his bowerie!" They set out upon the last stage along a trail between the whispering corn. Von Donck had grown suddenly silent. He plucked at the panther skin, snorting occasionally, and casting side glances at his companion, who rode close to his side, intent upon the prospect of low houses and broken bush. When Geoffrey at length leaned over with a warning to point out the figure of a man, who was proceeding down a side path with a dog at his heels, the old Dutchman replied by touching the shoulder nearest him and saying: "Dost feel the smart of that wound yet?" "It is nothing," Geoffrey answered. "See you not that man advancing?" "The marks shall remain," went on Pieter solemnly. "The scar will be there to remind you of a good friend in New Amsterdam. My lad, I shall seek to hear of you. Each time I look on this skin I shall breathe a wish for the happiness of the boy who saved my life in the crystal hills. When you come to make your home in Virginia, send to Pieter von Donck at the hostel by San Nicolas, and if he be alive, and not grown too fat to walk, he will come out to meet you. Will not forget the old rogue who tricked the French?" Geoffrey put out his hand and grasped the podgy fingers. "May I meet a traitor's end if I forget my friend," he answered. "Had it not been for you my dry body would now be swinging in the wind of the mountains. I wish you well, Pieter; I shall ever wish you well. Now ride! You would not have me fight for you against my own people." "There is no English blood in him," snorted Von Donck. "A Dutchman, I say, a Dutchman to the ends of his hair." The dog was bounding towards the travellers, and the farmer put up his hand and hailed them. "We are Englishmen," Geoffrey called back. "Now, by the sack of San Nicolas, out upon you," shouted Von Donck. "I am no Englishman. I am a Hollander, fellow, Hollander from head to heel." "Ride!" exclaimed Geoffrey, smiting his comrade's mount. "God be with you, Pieter." "And you, boy."