think she can have spelt un wrong, Gearge?"

"'Tis likely she have," said George, regaining his composure.

"Abel! Abel! Abel!" cried the mother from the dwelling-room.
"Come to bed, child!"

"Good-night, Gearge. I'm main sorry to be so stupid, Gearge," said
Abel, and off he ran.

Mrs. Lake was walking up and down, rocking the little Jan in her
arms, who was wailing fretfully.

"I be puzzled to know what ails un," said Mrs. Lake, in answer to
Abel's questions. "He be quite in a way tonight. But get thee to
bed, Abel."

And though Abel begged hard to be allowed to try his powers of
soothing with the little Jan, Mrs. Lake insisted upon keeping the
baby herself; and Abel undressed, and crept into the press-bed. He
fell asleep in spite of a somewhat disturbed mind. That mysterious
word and George's evident displeasure worried him, and he was
troubled also by the unusual fretfulness of the little Jan, and the
sound of sorrow in his baby wail. His last waking thoughts were a
strange mixture, passing into stranger dreams.

The word Moerdyk danced before his eyes, but brought no meaning with
it. Jan's cries troubled him, and with both there blended the
droning of the ancient plaintive ditty, which the foster-mother sang
over and over again as she rocked the child in her arms. That wail