"Oh, Trompke! Shame, Trompke!" he cried.
But the sister was laughing so hard that her kind, red face grew even redder than usual.
"Do not scold him," she said, "He did no harm. Oh, what a funny sight!"
And again the good sister went into peals of laughter. Her mirth started Philippe to thinking. A plan was forming in his mind.
Suddenly he jumped to his feet and exclaimed, "My sister, I have thought of a plan!"
The sister wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes. She listened to the boy.
"It suddenly came to me as you were laughing," he said, "that if the sight of Trompke seemed so funny to you, why would it not be funny to others?"
The sister gave signs of exploding again at the mention of lace-gowned Trompke.
But Philippe went on, "Give me some of your lace. I will dress Trompke as a bride in the market place of Bruges. People will stop. And when they stop, I shall sell them your lace. I shall be able, then, to repay you."