“Give me a spade!” cried Jorian eagerly. “But stay! No; he is a suspicious man. You are sure they are there still?”
“I will openly take the blame if human hand hath touched them.”
“Then keep them but two hours more, I prithee, good Margaret,” said Jorian, and ran off to the Stadthouse of Tergou a joyful man.
The burgomaster jogged along towards Sevenbergen, with Jorian striding beside him, giving him assurance that in an hour's time the missing parchments would be in his hand.
“Ah, master!” said he, “lucky for us it wasn't a thief that took them.”
“Not a thief? not a thief? what call you him, then?”
“Well, saving your presence, I call him a jackdaw. This is jackdaw's work, if ever there was; 'take the thing you are least in need of, and hide it'—that's a jackdaw. I should know,” added Jorian oracularly, “for I was brought up along with a chough. He and I were born the same year, but he cut his teeth long before me, and wow! but my life was a burden for years all along of him. If you had but a hole in your hose no bigger than a groat, in went his beak like a gimlet; and, for stealing, Gerard all over. What he wanted least, and any poor Christian in the house wanted most, that went first. Mother was a notable woman, so if she did but look round, away flew her thimble. Father lived by cordwaining, so about sunrise Jack went diligently off with his awl, his wax, and his twine. After that, make your bread how you could! One day I heard my mother tell him to his face he was enough to corrupt half-a-dozen other children; and he only cocked his eye at her, and next minute away with the nurseling's shoe off his very foot. Now this Gerard is tarred with the same stick. The parchments are no more use to him than a thimble or an awl to Jack. He took 'em out of pure mischief and hid them, and you would never have found them but for me.”
“I believe you are right,” said Ghysbrecht, “and I have vexed myself more than need.”
When they came to Peter's gate he felt uneasy.
“I wish it had been anywhere but here.”