"Truide," she affirmed, disdainfully. "Yes, it is Truide, who but for
me would be dead now of hunger and cold--or _worse_. And she has been
making love to that great fool, Jan van der Welde,--great oaf that he
is,--after all I have done for her; after my dragging her in out of the
cold and rain; after all I have taught her. Ah, professor, but it is a
vile, venomous viper that we have been warming in our bosoms!"

"I must beg, Koosje," said the old gentleman, sedately, "that you will
exonerate me from any such proceeding. If you remember rightly, I was
altogether against your plan for keeping her in the house." He could not
resist giving her that little dig, kind of heart as he was.

"Serves me right for being so soft-hearted!" thundered Koosje. "I'll be
wiser next time I fall over a bundle, and leave it where I find it."

"No, no, Koosje; don't say that," the old gentleman remonstrated,
gently. "After all, it may be but a blessing in disguise. God sends all
our trials for some good and wise purpose. Our heaviest afflictions are
often, nay, most times, Koosje, means to some great end which, while the
cloud of adversity hangs over us, we are unable to discern."

"Ah!" sniffed Koosje, scornfully.

"This oaf--as I must say you justly term him, for you are a good clever
woman, Koosje, as I can testify after the experience of years--has
proved that he can be false; he has shown that he can throw away
substance for shadow (for, of a truth, that poor, pretty child would
make a sad wife for a poor man); yet it is better you should know it now
than at some future date, when--when there might be other ties to make
the knowledge more bitter to you."