"Jim Bates, from Breucklen Heights."

"Then you're all right, sir; why didn't you say so before?" and the man,
casting a swift glance to make sure that the boy at the door was not
looking, pulled a scrap of dirty paper from his pocket, which was
instantly seized and opened by the fisherman. As he read the few words
it contained, the anxious lines on his face grew deeper.

"It is the only way," he muttered to himself, as he tore the scrap into
tiniest fragments, "but I must know from Kitty the hour." Then aloud,
"Have you a bit of paper, friend, on which I can write a message?"

"Surely," said the shopkeeper; "wait here a moment until I fetch it,"
and he went hurriedly through a small door at the back of the shop,
leaving the fisherman standing near the window, from which he could see
the crowd outside. Suddenly the man uttered an exclamation, and made a
dash for the door, nearly upsetting the boy on the threshold.

"Tell your master I will return shortly," he said hurriedly, and
disappeared in the direction of the Vly Market.

It happened that Madam Cruger, thrifty housewife though she was, had
forgotten to order an extra number of the large, flat seedcakes, known
as New Year Cakes (and without which no gathering could be considered
complete for New Year day, when they were handed to all callers with the
accompanying glasses of mulled wine and metheglin), and had therefore
dispatched her daughter, with a colored servant carrying a capacious
basket on his arm, to purchase the dainty from the one stall in the Vly
Market where the aristocratic folk were wont to deal. Truth to tell,