"What's that?" inquired Anna, quickly.
Kate laughed again. "It is the performance of a long-ago ancestor,—a Dutch boatman named Van der Berg. It was in that early time when the Netherlanders were struggling against Spain to establish their own liberty and independence. William the Silent, Prince of Orange, you know, who had been the Netherlanders' best friend when he was at the head of their commonwealth, was dead, and his son, Maurice, Prince of Nassau, was working with John of olden Barneveld to help the Netherlanders, as his father had been doing, to become strong enough to get altogether out of the clutches of Spain. But how ridiculous of me to talk history to you like this, just because of that old story! To change the conversation, what is it you are knitting, Anna,—a shawl or a cape?"
"No, no, we don't want to change the conversation," protested Anna and Myra, who knew quite well what a delightful story-teller Kate was, and never more delightful than when she was "talking history,"—telling "true stories," as they expressed it. Neither of the girls was very fond of studying history, but they were very fond of listening to Kate whenever she would "talk it," or whenever she would pick out of it its—to them—labyrinthine mazes some stirring incident, and read it to them. So their protest now was very decisive against any change of conversation; and thus urged to go back to her subject, Kate went on with the story of her ancestor. She had not gone far, however, when she stopped short again, saying,—
"But wait! Motley tells the story so beautifully in his 'United Netherlands;' let me read it to you in his own words. It's too bad to try to tell it in my words; and here's the book right on this lower library shelf."
"It was the work of a moment to possess herself of the book"
It was the work of a moment to possess herself of the book; and the girls, settling themselves comfortably in their chairs, gave themselves up to the pleasure of listening to the following spirited narrative:—