"Aye; but it was of no use," moaned the dame, "'hiders make best finders.'"
Hans started. "Do you think the father could tell aught?" he asked mysteriously.
"Aye, indeed," said Dame Brinker, nodding her head, "I think so, but that is no sign. I never hold the same belief in the matter two days. Mayhap the father paid it off for the great silver watch we have been guarding since that day. But, no—I'll never believe it."
"The watch was not worth a quarter of the money, mother."
"No, indeed; and your father was a shrewd man up to the last moment. He was too steady and thrifty for silly doings."
"Where did the watch come from, I wonder," muttered Hans, half to himself.
Dame Brinker shook her head, and looked sadly toward her husband, who sat staring blankly at the floor. Gretel stood near him, knitting.
"That we shall never know, Hans. I have shown it to the father many a time, but he does not know it from a potato. When he came in that dreadful night to supper he handed the watch to me and told me to take good care of it until he asked for it again. Just as he opened his lips to say more, Broom Klatterboost came flying in with word that the dyke was in danger. Ah! the waters were terrible that holy Pinxter-week! My man, alack, caught up his tools and ran out. That was the last I ever saw of him in his right mind. He was brought in again by midnight, nearly dead, with his poor head all bruised and cut. The fever passed off in time but never the dullness—that grew worse every day. We shall never know."
Hans had heard all this before. More than once he had seen his mother, in hours of sore need, take the watch from its hiding-place, half-resolved to sell it, but she had always conquered the temptation.
"No, Hans," she would say, "we must be nearer starving than this before we turn faithless to the father!"