Butler citizen. [volume] (Butler, Pa.) 1877-1922, 1903-03-19
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: JzxGrose'
: JinUe'S
3 Wo ding
nRRAN RlCHARO GRfEMEY...

so the maidens of Vaarken called her
truly an alien, for under the close white
cap that she hated with all her soul the
little black curls crept out to frame
the sweet curves of the dimpled cheek,
warm with the sun kissed olive of an
other land.
In the squat red brick house whose
shining brass rallied stoop led out to
the market square dwelt Mevrouw
van Verck, old and wrinkled, but
straight as an oak. There had come TO
her womanhood, wifehood, mother
hood and sorrow, for Nicholas van
Verck, the stalwart, laughing son of
the old house, had fed from the quiet
and uuaintness of the fatherland
without ever a word. The darkness of
five silent years had passed when one
night, as the sea ragged against the
dikes, the wanderer returned - not
alone, for he carried the child that was
destined to be at once the pride and
plague Of Mevrouw van Verck's lone
ly life. A few months later Nicholas
van Verck, strangely old and broken,
yielded up his turbulent soul, as much
a mystery to Vaarken as before he re
turned. The old woman and the child
lived on together, and the red brick
mansion kept it's secrets well.
The years rolled on, the gypsy years
that stG,e the little laughing child
with her witching, dark face and left
in her stead demure young maiden of
dreams. Jufrow Unite, scarce sixteen,
had her rebellious little head full of
old tales that Katrinlle, the serving
woman, had whispered at dusk through
the curtains of her white bed when
mevrouw had thought the child fast
asleep. There was ever faint, elusive
memory of some other time when, in
place of the grassy banks of the slow
canals, the weary order and cleanli-
ness of Vaarken, came bursts of wild
music, white tents tapping in the
breezes, the glow of scarlet and gold,
with warm, red lips upon her own.
DINNER and DINNER, but as the child
ish things slipped by out of the mea-
gerness of everyday was born renais-
sance of the past as the girl struggled
daily to remember. Foolish Jufrow
Unite! AS if the fatted kline were not
better than the tents of Kedar!
Oh, weary, weary days-mevrouw,
upright in her high, carved, oaken
chair, knitting, always knitting,
only looking over her spectacles long
enough to reprove the girl for her
idleness, and the silence of a house
where laughter is forbidden-where
one goes softly in penance for an un-
known sin, She hated the close cap,
the sober garb of the burgher maiden.
Better the flash of peasant color and
the tinkle of their glittering orna-
ments.
The flame barred sunset died across
the fiat, green meadows as the women
cluttered away from the washing
place. Still Unite sat listless, her big,
dark eyes looking out from under their
long lashes straight into distance.
The tinkle of a guitar rippled over
the water, and mans rich tenor sing
ing some lilt Of stranger music-nearer,
'fNon ii scordor ii mi." To Jintje's ear
the words were nothing, but the pas
sion of the music and the voice-ah,
she had heard that voice in dreamsl
The guitar ceased, but the splash of
oars came in its stead. The song was
now Venetian barcarole as the light
skiff shot into view between the droop-
ing alders that fringed the bank.
The craft was strange to Jintje's
eyes, but she half rose to greet the man
that propelled it after the English fash
ion. AS she stood out tall and slight
from the green wall behind her Dering
paused involuntarily. Then, seeing that
it was one of the burgher maidens, he
would have gone on, but something in
the appealing childish face riveted his
attention.
Ten minutes later the boat was moor
ed close in. He was seated at Jufrow
Jintje's side and by the aid of his bro
ken Dutch was struggling to make her
understand.
That evening was one of many even
ings when Jufrow Unite strove with
the strange tongue, awkwardly at first
tongue, the English words took mean
ing, and she listened wonderingly as
Dering told her of the wild jungle, the
forests Of palm, the great elephants
that wrought like men, the glitter of
the eastern land where the languorous
golden days droned into the glory of
tropic nights. These stories were a
queer medley of broken Dutch and un-
familiar English, but Jufrow Unite
listened and longed. AT last she told
him of her "other country" that she
knew and yet did not know, the secret
of which was locked in mevrouw's
breast.
AS the summer days grew to their
end Dering awoke with shock to the
position into which he had drifted. AL
ready curious glances followed the girl,
and the maidens of Vaarken hushed
their chatter when she came among
them. Others knew of the little nook
In the green shadow of the alders,
and whispers of the doings of Jufrow
Unite and the stranger were. growing
louder.
One day he waited long in the little
boat, and she did not come. Then he
shipped his oars and strobe with de-
termined air up the street, across the
market place to the red brick house.
Mevrouw's high pitched voice came to
him as he mounted the stoop:
."What manner of maiden art thou
Answer, thou shameless one, Out of
the mire of the English camp in the
heather land my son brought thee
home. Like mother, like child. want
no more of thee. Begoner' Then the
old voice broke into piteOus weeping,
and Dering heard Il low sobbing that
came ever nearer as the great door
swung ajar and Unite crept through
into the dark.
Dering caught the slender figure in
his arms, where she struggled like q
frightened wild thing. But he held
her close and rang peal after peal on
the old brass knocker, while overhead
the old voice cried: "Katrinke, Ka.
trinke, haste, quick! The child hath
taken my foolish word and is gone
into the night" Then, as the fright
ened face appeared at an upper win
dow, Dering uncovered his head and
with the girl still held tightly against
his breast, spoke in such wise that the
great door was flung wide. Meyrouw
anger had melted into smiles, for was
not the stranger a kinsman of Jufrow
Unite, by right of the unknown moth