and the hostess' daughter, a plump Flanders lass, with long gold
pendants in her ears, was at a side window.

"Humph!" said the rich burgher of Antwerp, with a sulky glance at the
stranger.

"Der duyvel!" said the fat little distiller of Schiedam.

The landlord saw with the quick glance of a publican that the new guest
was not at all, at all, to the taste of the old ones; and to tell the
truth, he did not himself like my grandfather's saucy eye.

He shook his head--"Not a garret in the house but was full."

"Not a garret!" echoed the landlady.

"Not a garret!" echoed the daughter.

The burgher of Antwerp and the little distiller of Schiedam continued
to smoke their pipes sullenly, eyed the enemy askance from under their
broad hats, but said nothing.

My grandfather was not a man to be browbeaten. He threw the reins on
his horse's neck, cocked his hat on one side, stuck one arm akimbo,
slapped his broad thigh with the other hand--

"Faith and troth!" said he, "but I'll sleep in this house this very
night!"

My grandfather had on a tight pair of buckskins--the slap went to the