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Here, of a summer afternoon, he smoked his pipe, drank his tea, coffee, or beer, while his wife plied her needle, and the children played at the door. "What is that inscription on the house?" asked Paul, as they approached the building. "Mijn genegenheid is voldam," replied Mr. Fluxion. "Exactly so! I understand that, and those are my sentiments," laughed Paul; "but what does it all mean?"
Saxham whipped out the splinter with a little pair of tweezers, deftly cleansed and dressed the wound, bandaged it, and, dismissing Rasu the Sweeper with a caution, was coming across to the Reverend Mother when a chorus of cries and piercing shrieks broke forth: "Mijn jongen! mijn jongen!"
Good-bye again, in the touching words of our Dutch translator with whom I'm sure you'll heartily agree: Toch ben ik er mijn landgenooten dank baar voor, die mijn arbeid steeds zoo welwillend outvangen en wier genegenheid ik voortdurend hoop te verdienen. On a bright December morning long ago, two thinly clad children were kneeling upon the bank of a frozen canal in Holland.
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