Hans Van Doorst spread eloquent hands. "Who can argue with a woman?" he asked. "Especially a Dutch woman?"
He rose, went into the room, and closed the door behind him. Ten minutes later, Marta opened the door a crack and peeked in. She entered, and came out with Hans Van Doorst's clothing.
"He sleeps," she announced. "Like a man worn out he sleeps."
Ramsay changed his wet clothes for some dry ones Pieter had given him and went out to catch Black. From the house's ridge pole, Captain Klaus, Hans Van Doorst's tame sea gull, squawked at him. Ramsay grinned back, walked up to the little horse, rubbed him down, and put him back in the corral. He did the rest of his chores, and when he went into the house for dinner Hans Van Doorst was seated at the table.
"I told him!" Marta scolded. "I told him to stay in bed and I would bring him his food. But can I talk reason to a Dutchman?"
"Marta," Hans Van Doorst said softly, "there is fishing to be done."
Eager interest glowed in Pieter's eyes. "Are you going again, Hans?"
"I am a fisherman."
"You are crazy," Marta corrected. "One day you will kill yourself on that lake."
Again the sadness, the inborn melancholy, sat like a mask on the Dutch fisherman. But only for a moment.