"Mamae Puzzel! Mamae Puzzel!"

"Mama Puzzel can do nothing for you, Riekje," replied the midwife. "You
must be patient."

Within the room, the kettle sang on the fire; without, the water lapped
against the boat. Voices died away along the banks, and doors were shut.

"It is midnight," said Tobias, "those are the people leaving the inn."

"Ah! Dolf! dear Dolf!" cried Riekje, each time. "Why does he not come
back?"

"I see the lamps in the houses and boats being put out one by one. Dolf
will be in directly," said Nelle to quiet her. But Dolf did not return.

Two hours after midnight Riekje was in such pain that she had to go to
bed. Madame Puzzel sat beside her and Nelle told her beads. Two hours
passed thus.

"Dolf! Dolf!" Riekje cried incessantly. "Why does he stay away so long
when his Riekje is dying?"

Tobias went up the ladder now and again to see if Dolf were not coming
back. The little port-hole of the Guldenvisch reflected its red light on
the dark water; there was no other window alight in the town. In the
distance a church clock rang out the quarters, the chimes falling
through the night like a flight of birds escaped from a cage. Tobias
listened to the notes of the music which spoke of the son whom he
awaited. Gradually the lights were relit one after another in the