"Why not, Hans? Shame on you to reproach me for that! I'm as
true a Protestant, in sooth, as any fine lady that walks into
church, but it's no wrong to turn sometimes to the good Saint
Nicholas. Tut! It's a likely story if one can't do that,
without one's children flaring up at it--and he the boys' and
girls' own saint. Hoot! Mayhap the colt is a steadier horse
than the mare?"

Hans knew his mother too well to offer a word in opposition when
her voice quickened and sharpened as it did now (it was often
sharp and quick when she spoke of the missing money), so he said
gently, "And what did you ask of good Saint Nicholas, Mother?"

"Why, never to give the thieves a wink of sleep till they brought
it back, to be sure, if he has the power to do such things, or
else to brighten our wits that we might find it ourselves. Not a
sight have I had of it since the day before the dear father was
hurt--as you well know, Hans."

"That I do, Mother," he answered sadly, "though you have almost
pulled down the cottage in searching."

"Aye, but it was of no use," moaned the dame. "'HIDERS make
best finders.'"

Hans started. "Do you think the father could tell aught?"

"Aye, indeed," said Dame Brinker, nodding her head. "I think so,
but that is no sign. I never hold the same belief in the matter
two days. Mayhap the father paid it off for the great silver