hastening mysteriously along.

"Doubtless, they have been suddenly called to the bedside of the dying,"
he muttered.

It was now he remembered that it is customary in Flanders on that night
to replace the hay, carrots, and turnips which the little ones put on
the hearth to feed Saint Nicholas' ass, by big dolls, wooden horses,
musical instruments, violins, or simply by mannikins in spikelaus,
according as each can afford.

"Ah," he said to himself, comforted, "they are fathers and mothers going
to the shops." But now the gloomy lights which resembled the taper-
bearers seemed to be chasing one another along the quays; their little
flames ran in every direction, crossed one another, and looked like big
fireflies. "I must see double," he said, "the fireflies can be in my
brain only."

Suddenly he heard voices, calling, crying out, lamenting.

Torches moved to and fro on the river bank, their red tongues of flame
blown by the wind amid clouds of smoke. In the uncertain light he could
at last distinguish figures rushing about, others leaning over the
river, black as well. This explained everything: the lamps had not
moved, but he had been misled by the flitting torches.

"Let us fetch Dolf Jeffers," cried two men. "No one else will be able to
do it."

"Here is Dolf Jeffers," cried the good fellow at that moment, "what do