"Might WAKE, Mother!" echoed Hans. "Wake--and know us?"

"Aye, child," almost whispered his mother, "such things have
been."

By this time Hans had nearly forgotten his proposed errand to
Amsterdam. His mother had seldom spoken so familiarly to him.
He felt himself now to be not only her son, but her friend, her
adviser:

"You are right, Mother. We must never give up the watch. For
the father's sake we will guard it always. The money, though,
may come to light when we least expect it."

"Never!" cried Dame Brinker, taking the last stitch from her
needle with a jerk and laying the unfinished knitting heavily
upon her lap. "There is no chance! One thousand guilders--and
all gone in a day! One thousand guilders. Oh, what ever DID
become of them? If they went in an evil way, the thief would
have confessed it on his dying bed. he would not dare to die
with such guilt on his soul!"

"He may not be dead yet," said Hans soothingly. "Any day we may
hear of him."

"Ah, child," she said in a changed tone, "what thief would ever
have come HERE? It was always neat and clean, thank God, but
not fine, for the father and I saved and saved that we might have
something laid by. 'Little and often soon fills the pouch.' We