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Updated: May 8, 2025
There'll be some stout fellows to greet me. Jan Kamphuisen and young Hoogsvliet. They have been good friends to thee, Hans, I'll warrant." Hans looked at his mother. Young Hoogsvliet had been dead five years. Jan Kamphuisen was in the jail at Amsterdam. "Aye, they'd have done their share no doubt," said Dame Brinker, parrying the inquiry, "had we asked them.
"Strange that the dear father should have put it down so woeful deep," said Dame Brinker in rather a provoked tone. "Ah, the ground was soft enough then, I warrant. How wise of him to mistrust Jan Kamphuisen, and Jan in full credit at the time. Little I thought that handsome fellow with his gay ways would ever go to jail! Now, Hans, let me take a turn.
"Here, Mother," said the boy, plunging his hands far into his pocket, "here is more we shall be rich if we keep on!" "Aye, indeed," she answered, eagerly reaching forth her hand. Then, lowering her voice, added, "We SHOULD be rich but for that Jan Kamphuisen. He was at the willow tree years ago, Hans. Depend upon it!" "Indeed, it seems likely," sighed Hans.
Jan Kamphuisen said something, the sundown before, that made me distrust his honesty. He was the only one living besides Mother who knew that we had saved a thousand guilders, so I rose up that night and buried the money blockhead that I was ever to suspect an old friend!"
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