While Ulenspiegel nestled close and drank his fill, all the birds in
the country-side began to waken.
Claes, who was tying up sticks, regarded his wife as she gave the
breast to Ulenspiegel.
"Wife," he said, "hast made good provision of this fine milk?"
"The pitchers are full," she said, "but that doth not suffice for my
peace of mind."
"It seems that you are downhearted over your good fortune," said Claes.
"I was thinking," she said, "that there is not so much as a penny
piece in that leather bag of ours hanging on the wall."
Claes took hold of the bag and shook it. But in vain. There was no
sign of any money. He looked crestfallen. Nevertheless, hoping to
comfort his good wife--
"What are you worrying about?" says he. "Have we not in the bin that
cake we offered Katheline yesterday? And don't I see a great piece of
meat over there that should make good milk for the child for three
days at the least? And this tub of butter, is it a ghost-tub? And
are they spectres, those apples ranged like flags and banners all
in battle order, row after row, in the storeroom? And is there no
promise of cool refreshment guarded safe in the paunch of our fine
old cask of cuyte de Bruges?"
Soetkin said: "When we take the child to be christened we shall have
to give two patards to the priest, and a florin for the feasting."
But at this moment Katheline returned, with a great bundle of herbs
in her arms.
"For the child that is born with a caul," she cried. "Angelica that
keeps men from luxury; fenel that preserves them from Satan...."
"Have you none of that herb," asked Claes, "which is called florins?"
"No," said she.
"Very well," he answered, "I shall go and see if I cannot find any
growing in the canal."
And with that he went off, with his line and his fishing-net, knowing
that he would not be likely to meet any one, since it was yet an hour
before the oosterzon, which is, in the land of Flanders, six o'clock
in the morning.