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For she was gay enough and lightsome enough in her demeanor. She came in with a skip which would have been entrancing in some elfish mignonne who could dance light-foot on spring flowers without crushing them. But when this our solid Burgomagisterial Katrin tripped in, it nearly drove me wild with mirth.
But to make love to why, as Helene was wont to remark, Feech! And the curious thing about Katrin Texel was that though her corporeal part might be a direct inheritance from her Burgomeister father and his substantial brewery, her spirit had been designed for an artful fairy of half her size, in order that it might go pirouetting into airy realms of the imagination.
But, after all, Katrin was no ways averse to love-making of any kind, which, after all, is the main thing. And as for the Little Playmate, I did not mind her a bonnet-tag. She had brought it upon herself. Michael Texel indeed! So I went on. It was excellent sport such a jest as may not be played every day.
The Little Playmate was silent a minute, only continuing to tap the flags with a kind of naughtiness that became her. "Katrin Texel would not look at you, charming as you think yourself," she said, at last. "Did she tell you so, Little Sister?" said I, drawing a bow at a great venture. The arrow struck, and I was content. "Well," she answered, somewhat breathlessly, "what if she did?
Plain kissing was more in her way as I have been told. So I aired my book of chivalry to Katrin Texel. "Fair maid," said I, "have you heard the refrain of the song that I love so well? It is like sweet music to me to hear it. I love sweet music. This is the latest catch: "'My true love hath my heart and I have his. "How goes it, Helene?"
But I only saw Katrin and Helene going gossiping down the street with their heads very close together. At first I smiled, well pleased to think how excellently I had played my cards and how daintily I had worked in those gallant speeches out of the book of chivalry. But by-and-by it struck me that the Little Playmate was absent a most unconscionable time. Could it be Michael Texel?
You love such music, dear Katrin, do you not?" cried Helene over her shoulder from the window. But Katrin, the divine cow, knew not what to make of us. I think she was of the opinion that Helene and I, with much study upon books, had suddenly gone mad. "I do indeed love music," she said at last, uncertainly, "but, Master Hugo, not the kind of which my gossip, Helene, speaks.
Surely even your vanity can take nothing out of a girl saying that she cannot abide you." But I answered nothing to this, only stroked the mustache which was beginning to thrive admirably on my upper lip. "Of all the " began Helene, looking at me fixedly. Then she stopped. "Well," said I, pausing in the caressing of my chin, "what do I worse every day than make love to Katrin Texel?"
There the Katrin ferry transferred men, horses, and carriage to Brooklyn, that great New York annex located on the left bank of the East River, and in a few minutes we arrived at the wharf next to which the Abraham Lincoln was vomiting torrents of black smoke from its two funnels. Our baggage was immediately carried to the deck of the frigate. I rushed aboard. I asked for Commander Farragut.
Rob Roy was a sort of thievin' devil of a white Mohawk, that found it easier to steal cattle, than raise them himself; and that Loch Katrin, that they make such a touss about, is jist about equal to a good sizeable duck-pond in our country; at least, that's my idea. For I tell you it does not do to follow arter a poet, and take all he says for gospel.
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