“Yes—yes—I see how it is!” muttered Doortje. “So—so—turkeys—turkeys; ducks—ducks—quaack—quaack—quaack—gobble, gobble, gobble—” Here, the old hag set up such an imitation of ducks, geese, turkeys, game-cocks, and other birds, that one who was in an outer room, might well have imagined he heard the cries of a regular poultry-yard. I was startled, myself, for the imitation was very admirable—but Guert was obliged to wipe the perspiration from his face.
“That will do—that will do, Mother!” the young man exclaimed. “I see, you know all about it; and there is no use in attempting disguises with you. Now, tell me, if I am ever to be a married man, or not. My errand here, is to learn that fact; and I may as well own it, at once.”
“The world has many women in it—and fair faces are plenty, in Albany,” once more mumbled the woman, examining her cards, with great attention. “A youth, like you, might marry twice, even.”
“No, that is impossible; if I do not marry a particular lady, I shall never marry at all.”
“Yes—yes—I see how it is!—You are in love, young man.”
“D'ye hear that, Corny! Isn't it wonderful, how these creatures can tell? I admit the truth of what you say; but, describe to me the lady that I love.”
Guert had forgotten, altogether, that the use of the word lady, completely betrayed the fact of his disguise; since no man, truly of his dress and air, would think of applying such a word to his sweetheart. [30] I could not prevent these little betrayals of himself, however; for, by this time, my companion was too much excited, to hear reason.
“The lady that you love,” answered the fortune-teller, deliberately, and with the manner of one that proceeded with great confidence, “is very handsome, in the first place.”
“True as the sun in the heavens, Mother!”
“Then, she is virtuous, and amiable, and wise, and witty, and good.”