The Bow of Orange Ribbon: A Romance of New York

          “The proverb holds, that to be wise and love
          Is hardly granted to the gods above.”

“Well, well, to-day goes to its forefathers, like all the rest; and, as for what comes after it, every thing is in the love and counsel of the Almighty One.”

This was Joris Van Heemskirk’s last thought ere he fell asleep that night, after Elder Semple’s cautious disclosure and proposition.  In his calm, methodical, domestic life, it had been an “eventful day.”  We say the words often and unreflectingly, seldom pausing to consider that such days are the results which months, years, perchance centuries, have made possible.  Thus, a long course of reckless living and reckless gambling, and the consequent urgent need of ready money, had first made Captain Hyde turn his thoughts to the pretty daughter of the rich Dutch merchant.

Madam Semple, in her desire to enhance the importance of the Van Heemskirks, had mentioned more than once the handsome sums of ready money given to each of Katharine’s sisters on their wedding-day; and both Colonel Gordon and his wife had thought of this sum so often, as a relief to their nephew’s embarrassments, that it seemed almost as much Hyde’s property as if he had been born to inherit it.  At first Katherine, as its encumbrance, had been discussed very heartlessly,—­she could be left in New York when his regiment received marching orders, if it were thought desirable; or she could be taken to England, and settled as mistress of Hyde Manor House, a lonely mansion on the Norfolk fens, which was so rarely tenanted by the family that Hyde had never been there since his boyhood.

“She is a homespun little thing,” laughed the colonel’s fashionable wife, “and quite unfit to go among people of our condition.  But she adores you, Dick; and she will be passably happy with a house to manage, and a visit from you when you can spare the time.”

“Oh, your servant, aunt!  Then I am a very indifferent judge; for indeed she has much spirit below her gentle manner; and, upon my word, I think her as fine a creature as you can find in the best London society.  The task, I assure you, is not easy.  When Katherine is won, then, in faith, her father may be in no hurry of approval.  And the child is a fair, innocent child:  I am very uneasy to do her wrong.  The ninety-nine plagues of an empty purse are to blame for all my ill deeds.”

“Upon my word, Dick, nothing can be more commendable than your temper.  You make vastly proper reflection, sir; but you are in troubled waters,—­admit it,—­and this little Dutch-craft may bring you respectably into harbour.

It was in this mood that Katherine and her probable fortune had been discussed; and thus she was but one of the events, springing from lives anterior to her own, and very different from it.  And causes nearly as remote had prepared the way for her ready reception of Hyde’s homage, and the relaxation of domestic discipline which had trusted her so often and so readily in his society—­causes which had been forgotten, but which had left behind them a positive and ever-growing result.  When a babe, she was remarkably frail and delicate; and this circumstance, united to the fact of her being the youngest child, had made the whole household very tender to her, and she had been permitted a much larger portion of her own way than was usually given to any daughter in a Dutch family.

Also, in her father’s case, the motives influencing his decision stretched backward through many generations.  None the less was their influence potent to move him.  In fact, he forgot entirely to reflect how a marriage between his child and Captain Hyde would be regarded at that day; his first thoughts had been precisely such thoughts as would have occurred to a Van Heemskirk living two hundred years before him.  And thus, though we hardly remember the fact, it is this awful solidarity of the human family which makes the third and fourth generations heirs of their forefathers, and brings into every life those critical hours we call “eventful days.”

Joris, however, made no such reflections.  His age was not an age inclined to analysis, and he was still less inclined to it from a personal standpoint.  For he was a man of few, but positive ideas; yet these ideas, having once commended themselves to his faith or his intelligence, were embraced with all his soul.  It was this spirit which made him deprecate even religious discussions, so dear to the heart of his neighbour.

[Illustration:  He heard her calling him to breakfast]

“I like them not, Elder,” he would say; “of what use are they, then?  The Calvinistic faith is the true faith.  That is certain.  Very well, then; what is true does not require to be examined, to see if it be true.”

Semple’s communication regarding Captain Hyde and his daughter had aroused in him certain feelings, and led him to certain decisions.  He went to sleep, satisfied with their propriety and justice.  He awoke in precisely the same mood.  Then he dressed, and went into his garden.  It was customary for Katherine to join him there; and he frequently turned, as he went down the path, to see if she were coming.  He watched eagerly for the small figure in its short quilted petticoat and buckled shoes, and the fair, pink face shaded by the large Zealand hat, with its long blue ribbons crossed over the back.  But this morning she did not come.  He walked alone to his lily bed, and stooped a little forlornly to admire the tulips and crocus-cups and little purple pansies; but his face brightened when he heard her calling him to breakfast, and very soon he saw her leaning over the half door, shading her eyes with both her hands, the better to watch his approach.

Lysbet was already in her place; so was Joanna, and also Bram; and a slim black girl called Dinorah was handing around fricasseed chicken and venison steaks, hot fritters and johnny-cake; while the rich Java berry filled the room with an aroma of tropical life, and suggestions of the spice-breathing coasts of Sunda.  Joris and Bram discussed the business of the day; Katherine was full of her visit to Semple House the preceding evening.  Dinorah was no restraint.  The slaves Joris owned, like those of Abraham, were born or brought up in his own household; they held to all the family feelings with a faithful, often an unreasonable, tenacity.

And yet, this morning, Joris waited until Lysbet dismissed her handmaid, before he said the words he had determined to speak ere he began the work of the day.  Then he put down his cup with an emphasis which made all eyes turn to him, and said,—­

“Katrijntje, my daughter, call not to-day, nor call not any day, until I tell you different, at Madam Semple’s.  The people who go and come there, I like them not.  They will be no good to you.  Lysbet, what say you in this matter?”

“What you say, I say, Joris.  The father is to be obeyed.  When he will not, the children can not.”

“Joanna, what say you?”

“I like best of all things to do your pleasure, father.”

“And you, Bram?”

“As for me, I think you are very right.  I like not those English officers,—­insolent and proud men, all of them.  It would have been a great pleasure to me to strike down the one who yesterday spurned with his spurred boot our good neighbour Jacob Cohen, for no reason but that he was a Jew”—­

“Heigho! go softly, Bram.  That which burns thee not, cool not.”

“As he passed our store door where I stood, he said ‘devil,’ but he meant me.”

“Only God knows what men mean.  Now, then, little one, thy will is my will, is it not?”

She had drawn her chair close to her father’s, and taken his big hand between her own, and was stroking and petting it as he spoke; and, ere she answered, she leaned her head upon his breast.

“Father, I like to see the English lady; and she is teaching me the new stitch.”

“Schoone Lammetje!  There are many other things far better for thee to learn; for instance, to darn the fine Flemish lace, and to work the beautiful ‘clocks’ on thy stockings, and to make perfect thy Heidelberg and thy Confession of Faith.  In these things, the best of all good teachers is thy mother.”

“I can do these things also, father.  The lady loves me, and will be unhappy not to see me.”

“Then, let her come here and see thee.  That will be the proper thing.  Why not?  She is not better than thou art.  Once thy mother has called on her; thou and Joanna, a few times too often.  Now, then, let her call on thee.  Always honour thyself, as well as others.  That is the Dutch way; that is the right way.  Mind what I tell thee.”

His voice had gradually grown sterner; and he gently withdrew his hand from her clasp, and rose as a man in a hurry, and pressed with affairs:  “Come, Bram, there is need now of some haste.  The ‘Sea Hound’ has her cargo, and should sail at the noon-tide; and, as for the ’Crowned Bears,’ thou knowest there is much to be said and done.  I hear she left most of her cargo at Perth Amboy.  Well, well, I have told Jerome Brakel what I think of that.  It is his own affair.”

Thus talking, he left the room; and Lysbet instantly began to order the wants of the house with the same air of settled preoccupation.  “Joanna,” she said, “the linen web in the loom, go and see how it is getting on; and the fine napkins must be sent to the lawn for the bleaching, and to-day the chambers must be aired and swept.  The best parlour Katherine will attend to.”

Katherine still sat at the table; her eyes were cast down, and she was arranging—­without a consciousness of doing so—­her bread-crumbs upon her Delft plate.  The directions roused her from her revery, and she comprehended in a moment how decisive her father’s orders were intended to be.  Yet in this matter she was so deeply interested that she instinctively made an appeal against them.

“Mother, my mother, shall I not go once more to see Madam Gordon?  So kind she has been to me!  She will say I am ungrateful, that I am rude, and know not good manners.  And I left there the cushion I am making, and the worsteds.  I may go at once, and bring them home?  Yes, mother, I may go at once.  A young girl does not like to be thought ungrateful and rude.”

“More than that, Katherine; a young girl should not like to disobey a good father.  You make me feel astonished and sorry.  Here is the key of the best parlour; go now, and wash carefully the fine china-ware.  As to the rose-leaves in the big jars, you must not let a drop of water touch them.”

“My cushion and my worsteds, mother!”

“Well, then, I will send Dinorah for them with a civil message.  That will be right.”

So Lysbet turned and left the room.  She did not notice the rebellious look on her daughter’s face, the lowering brows, the resentment in the glance that followed her, the lips firmly set to the mental purpose.  “To see her lover at all risks”—­that was the purpose; but how best to accomplish it, was not clear to her.  The ways of the household were so orderly, so many things brought the family together during the day, Lysbet and Joanna kept such a loving watch over her, the road between their own house and the Semples’ was so straight and unscreened, and she was, beside, such a novice in deception,—­all these circumstances flashing at once across her mind made her, for a moment or two, almost despair.

But she lifted the key given her and went to the parlour.  It was a large, low room, with wainscoted walls, and a big tiled fireplace nearly filling one end of it.  The blinds were closed, but there was enough light to reveal its quaint and almost foreign character.  Great jars with dragons at the handles stood in the recesses made by large oak cabinets, black with age, and elaborately carved with a marvellous nicety and skill.  The oval tables were full of curious bits of china, dainty Oriental wicker work, exquisite shells on lacquered trays, wonderfully wrought workboxes and fans and amulets.  The odours of calamus and myrrh and camphor from strange continents mingled with the faint perfume of the dried rose leaves and the scent-bags of English lavender.  Many of these rare and beautiful things were the spoils brought from India and Java by the sea-going Van Heemskirks of past generations.  Others had come at long intervals as gifts from the captains of ships with whom the house did business.  Katherine had often seen such visitors—­men with long hair and fierce looks, and the pallor of hot, moist lands below the tan of wind and sunshine.  It had always been her delight to dust and care for these various treasures; and the room itself, with its suggestive aromas, was her favourite hiding-place.  Here she had made her own fairy tales, and built the enchanted castles which the less fortunate children of this day have clever writers build for them.

And at length the prince of her imagination had come!  As she moved about among the strange carven toys and beautiful ornaments, she could think only of him,—­of his stately manner and dark, handsome face.  Simple, even rustic, she might be; but she understood that he had treated her with as much deference and homage as if she had been a princess.  She recalled every word he said to her as they sat under the water beeches.  More vividly still she recalled the tender light in his eyes, the lingering clasp of his hand, his low, persuasive voice, and that nameless charm of fashion and culture which perhaps impressed her more than any other thing.

Among the articles she had to dust was a square Indian box with drawers.  It had always been called “the writing-box,” and it was partly filled with paper and other materials for letter-writing.  She stood before the open lid thoughtfully, and a sudden overwhelming desire to send some message of apology to Mrs. Gordon came into her heart.  She could write pretty well, and she had seen her mother and Joanna fold and seal letters; and, although she was totally inexperienced in the matter, she determined to make the effort.

[Illustration:  The quill pens must be mended]

There was nothing in the materials then to help her.  The letter paper was coarse; envelopes were unknown.  She would have to bring a candle into the room in order to seal it; and a candle could only be lit by striking a spark from the flint upon the tinder, and then igniting a brimstone match from it,—­unless she lit it at the kindled fire, which would subject her to questions and remonstrances.  Also, the quill pens must be mended, and the ink renewed.  But all these difficulties were overcome, one by one; and the following note was intrusted to the care of Diedrich Becker, the old man who worked in the garden and milked the cows: 

To MISTRESS COLONEL GORDON:  HONOURED MADAM:  My father forbids that I come to see you.  He thinks you should upon my mother call.  That you will judge me to be rude and ungrateful I fear very much.  But that is not true.  I am unhappy, indeed.  I think all the day of you.

                                   Your obedient servant,
                                                KATHERINE VAN HEEMSKIRK.

“’The poor child,” said Mrs. Gordon, when she had read the few anxious sentences.  “Look here, Dick;” and Dick, who was beating a tattoo upon the window-pane, turned listlessly and asked, “Pray, madam, what is it?”

“Of all earthly things, a letter from that poor child, Katherine Van Heemskirk.  She has more wit than I expected.  So her father won’t let her come to me.  Why, then, upon my word, I will go to her.”

Captain Hyde was interested at once.  He took the letter his aunt offered, and read it with a feeling of love and pity and resentment.  “You will go to-morrow?” he asked; “and would it be beyond good breeding for me to accompany you?”

“Indeed, nephew, I think it would.  But I will give your service, and say everything that is agreeable.  Be patient; to-morrow morning I will call upon our fair neighbour.”

The next morning was damp, for there had been heavy rain during the night; but Captain Hyde would not let his aunt forget or forego her promise.  She had determined to make an unceremonious visit; and early in the day she put on her bonnet and pelisse, and walked over to the Van Heemskirks.  A negro woman was polishing the brass ornaments of the door, and over its spotless threshold she passed without question or delay.

A few minutes she waited alone in the best parlour, charmed with its far off air and Eastern scents, and then Madam Van Heemskirk welcomed her.  In her heart she was pleased at the visit.  She thought privately that her Joris had been a little too strict.  She did not really see why her beautiful daughters should not have the society and admiration of the very best people in the Province.  And Mrs. Gordon’s praise of Katharine, and her declaration that “she was inconsolable without the dear creature’s society,” seemed to the fond mother the most proper and natural of feelings.

“Do but let me see her an hour, madam,” she said.  “You know my sincere admiration.  Is not that her voice?  I vow, she sings to perfection And what a singular melody!  Please to set wide the door, madam.”

“It is the brave song of the brave men of Zealand, when from the walls of Leyden they drove away the Spaniards;” and madam stood in the open door, and called to her daughter, “Well, then, Katharine, begin again the song of ‘The Beggars of the Sea.’”

    “We are the Beggars of the Sea,—­
    Strong, gray Beggars from Zealand we;
    We are fighting for liberty: 
      Heave ho! rip the brown sails free!

    “Hardy sons of old Zierikzee,
    Fed on the breath of the wild North Sea. 
    Beggars are kings if free they be: 
      Heave ho! rip the brown sails free!

    “‘True to the Wallet,’ whatever betide;
    ’Long live the Gueux,’—­the sea will provide
    Graves for the enemy, deep and wide: 
      Heave ho! rip the brown sails free!

    “Beggars, but not from the Spaniard’s hand;
    Beggars, ‘under the Cross’ we stand;
    Beggars, for love of the fatherland: 
      Heave ho! rip the brown sails free!

    “Now, if the Spaniard comes our way,
    What shall we give him, Beggars gray? 
    Give him a moment to kneel and pray: 
      Heave ho! rip the brown sails free!”

At the second verse, Mrs. Gordon rose and said, “Indeed, madam, I find my good-breeding no match against such singing.  And the tune is wonderful; it has the ring of trumpets, and the roar of the waves, in it.  Pray let us go at once to your daughters.”

“At work are they; but, if you mind not that, you are welcome indeed.”  Then she led the way to the large living, or dining, room, where Katherine stood at the table cleaning the silver flagons and cups and plates that adorned the great oak sideboard.

Joanna, who was darning some fine linen, rose and made her respects with perfect composure.  She had very little liking, either for Mrs. Gordon or her nephew; and many of their ways appeared to her utterly foolish, and not devoid of sin.  But Katherine trembled and blushed with pleasure and excitement, and Mrs. Gordon watched her with a certain kind of curious delight.  Her hair was combed backward, plaited, and tied with a ribbon; her arms bare to the shoulders, her black bodice and crimson petticoat neatly shielded with a linen apron:  and poised in one hand she held a beautiful silver flagon covered with raised figures, which with patient labour she had brought into shining relief.

“Oh,” cried the visitor, “that is indeed a piece of plate worth looking at!  Surely, child, it has a history,—­a romance perhaps.  La, there are words also upon it!  Pray, madam, be so obliging as to read the inscription;” and madam, blushing with pride and pleasure, read it aloud,—­

                    “’Hoog van Moed,
                    Klein van Goed,
                    Een zwaard in de hand: 
                    Is ‘t wapen van Gelderland.’”

“Dutch, I vow!  Surely, madam, it is very sonorous and emphatic; vastly different, I do assure you, from the vowelled idioms of Italy and Spain.  Pray, madam, be so civil as to translate the words for me.”

                    “’Of spirit great,
                    Of small estate,
                    A sword in the hand: 
                    Such are the arms of Guelderland.’

[Illustration:  A Guelderland flagon]

“You must know,” continued Madam Van Heemskirk, “that my husband’s father had a brother, who, in a great famine in Guelderland, filled one hundred flat boats with wheat of Zealand,—­in all the world it is the finest wheat, that is the truth,—­and help he sent to those who were ready to perish.  And when came better days, then, because their hearts were good, they gave to their preserver this flagon.  Joris Van Heemskirk, my husband, sets on it great store, that is so.”

Conversation in this channel was easily maintained.  Madame Van Heemskirk knew the pedigree or the history of every tray or cup, and in reminiscence and story an hour passed away very pleasantly indeed.  Joanna did not linger to listen.  The visitor did not touch her liking or her interest; and besides, as every one knows, the work of a house must go on, no matter what guest opens the door.  But Katherine longed and watched and feared.  Surely her friend would not go away without some private token or message for her.  She turned sick at heart when she rose as if to depart.  But Mrs. Gordon proved herself equal to the emergency; for, after bidding madam an effusive good-by, she turned suddenly and said, “Pray allow your daughter to show me the many ornaments in your parlour.  The glimpse I had has made me very impatient to see them more particularly.”

The request was one entirely in sympathy with the mood and the previous conversation, and madam was pleased to gratify it; also pleased, that, having fully satisfied the claims of social life, she could with courtesy leave her visitor’s further entertainment with Katherine, and return to her regular domestic cares.  To her the visit had appeared to be one of such general interest, that she never suspected any motive beneath or beyond the friendliness it implied.  Yet the moment the parlour-door had been shut, Mrs. Gordon lifted Katharine’s face between her palms, and said,—­

“Faith, child, I am almost run off my head with all the fine things I have listened to for your sake.  Do you know who sent me here?”

“I think, madam, Captain Hyde.”

“Psha!  Why don’t you blush, and stammer, and lie about it?  ’I think, madam, Captain Hyde,’” mimicking Katherine’s slight Dutch accent. “’Tis to be seen, miss, that you understand a thing or two.  Now, Captain Hyde wishes to see you; when can you oblige him so much?”

“I know not.  To come to Madam Semple’s is forbidden me by my father.”

“It is on my account.  I protest your father is very uncivil.”

“Madam, no; but it is the officers; many come and go, and he thinks it is not good for me to meet them.”

“Oh, indeed, miss, it is very hard on Captain Hyde, who is more in love than is reasonable Has your father forbidden you to walk down your garden to the river-bank?”

“No, madam.”

“Then, if Captain Hyde pass about two o’clock, he might see you there?”

“At two I am busy with Joanna.”

“La, child!  At three then?”

“Three?”

The word was a question more than an assent; but Mrs. Gordon assumed the assent, and did not allow Katharine to contradict it.  “And I promised to bring him a token from you,—­he was exceedingly anxious about that matter; give me the ribbon from your hair.”

“Only last week Joanna bought it for me.  She would surely ask me, ’Where is your new ribbon?’”

“Tell her that you lost it.”

“How could I say that?  It would not be true.”

The girl’s face was so sincere, that Mrs. Gordon found herself unable to ridicule the position.  “My dear,” she answered, “you are a miracle.  But, among all these pretty things, is there nothing you can send?”

Katherine looked thoughtfully around.  There was a small Chinese cabinet on a table:  she went to it, and took from a drawer a bow of orange ribbon.  Holding it doubtfully in her hand, she said, “My St. Nicholas ribbon.”

“La, miss, I thought you were a Calvinist!  What are you talking of the saints for?”

“St. Nicholas is our saint, our own saint; and on his day we wear orange.  Yes, even my father then, on his silk cap, puts an orange bow.  Orange is the Dutch colour, you know, madam.”

“Indeed, child, I do not know; but, if so, then it is the best colour to send to your true love.”

“For the Dutch, orange always.  On the great days of the kirk, my father puts blue with it.  Blue is the colour of the Dutch Calvinists.”

“Make me thankful to learn so much.  Then when Councillor Van Heemskirk wears his blue and orange, he says to the world, ’I am a Dutchman and a Calvinist’?”

“That is the truth.  For the Vaderland the Moeder-Kerk he wears their colours.  The English, too, they will have their own colour!”

“La, my dear, England claims every colour!  But, indeed, even an English officer may now wear an orange favour; for I remember well when our Princess Anne married the young Prince of Orange.  Oh, I assure you the House of Nassau is close kin to the House of Hanover!  And when English princesses marry Dutch princes, then surely English officers may marry Dutch maidens.  Your bow of orange ribbon is a very proper love-knot.”

“Indeed, madam, I never”—­

[Illustration:  “A very proper love-knot”]

“There, there!  I can really wait no longer. Some one is already in a fever of impatience.  ’Tis a quaintly pretty room; I am happy to have seen its curious treasures.  Good-by again, child; my service once more to your mother and sister;” and so, with many compliments, she passed chatting and laughing out of the house.

Katherine closed the best parlour, and lingered a moment in the act.  She felt that she had permitted Mrs. Gordon to make an appointment for her lover, and a guilty sense of disobedience made bitter the joy of expectation.  For absolute truthfulness is the foundation of the Dutch character; and an act of deception was not only a sin according to Katherine’s nature, but one in direct antagonism to it.  As she turned away from the closed parlour, she felt quite inclined to confide everything to her sister Joanna; but Joanna, who had to finish the cleaning of the silver, was not in that kind of a temper which invites confidence; and indeed, Katherine, looking into her calm, preoccupied face, felt her manner to be a reproof and a restraint.

So she kept her own counsel, and doubted and debated the matter in her heart until the hands of the great clock were rising quickly to the hour of fate.  Then she laid down her fine sewing, and said, “Mother, I want to walk in the garden.  When I come back my task I will finish.”

“That is well.  Joanna, too, has let her work fall down to her lap.  Go, both of you, and get the fine air from the river.”

This was not what Katherine wished; but nothing but assent was possible, and the girls strolled slowly down the box-bordered walks together.  Madam Van Heemskirk watched them from the window for a few minutes.  A smile of love and pleasure was on her fine, placid face; but she said with a sigh, as she turned away,—­

“Well, well, if it is the will of God they should not rise in the world, one must be content.  To the spider the web is as large as to the whale the whole wide sea; that is the truth.”

Joanna was silent; she was thinking of her own love-affairs; but Katherine, doubtful of herself, thought also that her sister suspected her.  When they reached the river-bank, Joanna perceived that the lilacs were in bloom, and at their root the beautiful auriculas; and she stooped low to inhale their strange, nameless, earthy perfume.  At that moment a boat rowed by with two English soldiers, stopped just below them, and lay rocking on her oars.  Then an officer in the stern rose and looked towards Katherine, who stood in the full sunlight with her large hat in her hand.  Before she could make any sign of recognition, Joanna raised herself from the auriculas and stood beside her sister; yet in the slight interval Katherine had seen Captain Hyde fling back from his left shoulder his cloak, in order to display the bow of orange ribbon on his breast.

The presence of Joanna baffled and annoyed him; but he raised his beaver with a gallant grace, and Joanna dropped a courtesy, and then, taking Katherine’s hand, turned toward home with her, saying, “That is the boat of Captain Hyde.  What comes he this way for?”

“The river way is free to all, Joanna.”  And Joanna looked sharply at her sister and remained silent.

But Katherine was merry as a bird.  She chattered of this and of that, and sang snatches of songs, old and new.  And all the time her heart beat out its own glad refrain, “My bow of orange ribbon, my bow of orange ribbon!” Her needle went to her thoughts, and her thoughts went to melody; for, as she worked, she sang,—­

“Will you have a pink knot? 
Is it blue you prize? 
One is like a fresh rose,
One is like your eyes. 
No, the maid of Holland,
For her own true love,
Ties the splendid orange,
Orange still above!
O oranje boven!
Orange still above.

“Will you have the white knot? 
No, it is too cold. 
Give me splendid orange,
Tint of flame and gold;
Rich and glowing orange,
For the heart I love;
Under, white and pink and blue;
Orange still above!
O oranje boven!
Orange still above!”

“How merry you sing, mijn Katrijntje!  Like a little bird you sing.  What, then, is it?”

“A pretty song made by the schoolmaster, mijn moeder.  ’Oranje Boven’ the name is.”

“That is a good name.  Your father I will remind to have it painted over the door of the summer-house.”

“There already are two mottoes painted,—­Peaceful is my garden,’ and ‘Contentment is my lot.’”

“Well, then, there is always room for two more good words, is there not?” And Katherine gayly sung her answer,—­

“Tie the splendid orange, Orange still above! O oranje boven! Orange still above.”

[Illustration:  Tail-piece]

[Illustration:  Chapter heading]