Tobias, having put back the big chest which served as a bed against the wall, went to fetch two sea-weed mattresses from his own bed, and, as he laid them on the chest, there was a healthy salt smell in the room.  Then Nelle covered the mattresses with spotless coarse linen sheets, and smoothed them with the palm of her hand to take out the creases and make it as soft as a feather-bed.  Towards midnight, Madame Puzzel folded up her knitting, placed her spectacles on the table, crossed her arms and looked into the fire; then she began to prepare the linen, made a hole in the pillows and looked at the time by the big silver watch which she wore under her jacket.  Finally, she yawned six consecutive times and went to sleep with one eye open.

Riekje wrung her hands and cried out: 

“Mamae Puzzel!  Mamae Puzzel!”

“Mama Puzzel can do nothing for you, Riekje,” replied the midwife.  “You must be patient.”

Within the room, the kettle sang on the fire; without, the water lapped against the boat.  Voices died away along the banks, and doors were shut.

“It is midnight,” said Tobias, “those are the people leaving the inn.”

“Ah!  Dolf! dear Dolf!” cried Riekje, each time.  “Why does he not come back?”

“I see the lamps in the houses and boats being put out one by one.  Dolf will be in directly,” said Nelle to quiet her.  But Dolf did not return.

Two hours after midnight Riekje was in such pain that she had to go to bed.  Madame Puzzel sat beside her and Nelle told her beads.  Two hours passed thus.

“Dolf!  Dolf!” Riekje cried incessantly.  “Why does he stay away so long when his Riekje is dying?”

Tobias went up the ladder now and again to see if Dolf were not coming back.  The little port-hole of the Guldenvisch reflected its red light on the dark water; there was no other window alight in the town.  In the distance a church clock rang out the quarters, the chimes falling through the night like a flight of birds escaped from a cage.  Tobias listened to the notes of the music which spoke of the son whom he awaited.  Gradually the lights were relit one after another in the houses, and lamps twinkled like stars along the water’s edge.  A fresh cold dawn broke over the town.  Then a little child began to cry in the boat, and it seemed to those who heard it sweet as the bleating of a lambkin.

“Riekje!  Riekje!”

A distant voice called Riekje.  It was Dolf who sprang over the bridge and rushed into the room.  Riekje, who was asleep, opened her eyes and saw her loving lad kneeling beside her.  Tobias threw his cap up in the air, and Nelle, laughing, pinched the face of the new-born babe whom Madame Puzzel swaddled on her knee.  When the baby was well wrapped up, Madame Puzzel placed it in Dolf’s arms and he kissed it cautiously with little smacks.

Riekje called Dolf to her side, took his head in her hand, and fell asleep until morning.  Dolf put his head beside her on the pillow, and their breath and their hearts were as one during that sleep.