Years came and went, and the seven cunies and myself and the Lady Om, passing through middle life into old age, more and more directed our footsteps to Fusan.

And as the years came and went, now one, now another failed to gather at the usual place.
Hans Amden was the first to die.

Jacob Brinker, who was his road-mate, brought the news.

Jacob Brinker was the last of the seven, and he was nearly ninety when he died, outliving Tromp a scant two years.

I well remember the pair of them, toward the last, worn and feeble, in beggars' rags, with beggars' bowls, sunning themselves side by side on the cliffs, telling old stories and cackling shrill-voiced like children.