* Basle then, as now, was famous for its gingerbread, which is, in fact, a rich and spicy kind of iced plum cake—made to keep long.
"There, go child, and show your cousins the garden and the orchard!" said the mother assistant, interposing rather more hastily than was consistent with good discipline. "I will come presently and make acquaintance with this wonderful cat."
I was not slow in availing myself of the permission.
As I stopped to shut the door, whereof the lock was out of order, I heard the prioress say, in an aggrieved tone, "Really, sister—" and I knew she was, as usual, asserting her dignity, and defending her authority, which took a good deal of defending, certainly.
I drew my aunt and cousins out to the gate, and we quickly released Turk from his imprisonment. He was hugely indignant at first. But finding himself among friends, and being invited to partake of refreshment, he very soon smoothed his ruffled plumes, and before long was entirely at home.
"We could not well take him with us, and my uncle thought you would like to have him," said my aunt. "But let us look at you, child. How well you look, and how you have grown. You are happy here, are you not?"
"Yes, aunt!" said I, indifferently. "If I cannot be with you and my cousins, I might as well be here. They are all kind. But oh, aunt, why does my uncle go away so far—and to a strange country, too?"
"I cannot tell you, dear child. He has good reasons, or he would never do so. You may guess it is hard, in my old age, to be transplanted to a foreign soil, and have to learn new ways and new tongues; but God knows best. His will be done."
"There are a great many English in Antwerp, my father says!" observed Katherine.
"Yes, that is true, and some that we know—at least, that your father knows."