Chapter XIX

Chapter XIXWalter had been to church: that was now behind him. Stoffel thought the pastor had preached a beautiful sermon, and said that “in a way all he said could be accepted.” He hoped that it would “bear fruit.”“Yes,” said the mother, “and he mustn’t tear his new breeches again. They cost too much hard work for that.”As a matter of fact the “hard work” done in the Pieterse family might be regarded as a negligible quantity. There was the necessary housework, and the usual complaining—or boasting, if you will—but this was to be expected.That Walter had postponed his visit to go to church was a result of the frightful threats of Juffrouw Laps. She cited Second Chronicles xvi. 12, and in the face of this text the Pieterses were not able successfully to defend their new and more liberal position. Juffrouw Pieterse could only say that the Bible was not to be interpreted that way, as if everything in it applied to a given individual.But Juffrouw Laps stuck to it, that if one has faith and grace one may come through all right; whereupon Juffrouw Pieterse expressed her willingness at all times to take advice.“Those are the essential things; through them we are saved! And—send him to me the first of the week.Or he can come Sunday, but after church. Then he can tell me about the sermon, even if the pastors are—but what does a child know about it!”Juffrouw Laps didn’t think much of pastors. She held that people with grace in their hearts can understand God’s word without Greek and Latin.“Yes, Sunday after church. I will count upon it.” And in order to make her invitation more insistent she mentioned certain sweets that she usually served her guests at that time.Supposing that Juffrouw Laps was really anxious for Walter to come, we must admit that she showed deep knowledge of boy-nature.As for Walter, he was afraid to be alone with this pious lady. For him she was the living embodiment of all the plagues that are made use of in the Old Testament to convert rebellious tribes to the true faith. For instance, thunder and lightning, pestilence, abysses, boils, flaming swords, etc.If he had had the courage he would have asked her just to deposit the promised dainties somewhere outside of her flat. He would find them then. But he didn’t have the courage.“And why didn’t you go?” asked the mother when Stoffel’s enthusiasm over the sermon had begun to die down.Walter said he had a pain in his stomach, which children always have when they want to bridge over disagreeable duties. With a better understanding between the parents and children this disease would be less frequent.“I don’t believe you have any pain in your stomach,”declared the mother. “It’s only because you’re a bad child and never do what you’re told to do.”Stoffel agreed with her; and then a council of war was held. Walter was condemned to go to Juffrouw Laps’s at once; and he went.Expecting some terrible ordeal, he was greatly embarrassed and confused by the show of friendliness with which he was received.“And you did come, my dear boy! But you are so late! Church has been out a long time. See what I have for you, expressly foryou!”She thrust him into a chair at the table and shoved all sorts of sweets over to him. Walter’s embarrassment increased; and he felt even less at ease when she began to stroke him and call him pet names.“Now, tell me about the sermon,” she said, when the child tried to escape the tenderness and affection to which he was not accustomed. “What did the pastor say?”“The text——”“But that’s all right—afterwards, when your mouth is empty. You must eat a few cakes first. Nobody can do everything at once. There is chocolate; and you’re to have a little dram, too. I’ve always said that you are a nice boy; but they’re forever plaguing you so. But you’re not eating enough; do just as if you were at home.”For Walter that was not the right expression. At home!His first surprise over Walter began to be possessed by a feeling of fear. Why, he could not have told to save him.Suddenly he got up and declared that his mother had told him not to stay long.There wasn’t a word of truth in it. Juffrouw Laps protested, but Walter held his ground. Despite all of that kindness Walter was able to escape from the enemy.Promising “to come back soon” he ran down the steps and into the street.An indescribable feeling of freedom regained thrilled through him. He had escaped. It was incomprehensible even to him. Never had he been received so kindly, so cordially; never had he been treated in a manner approaching this. But why his antipathy? When he left she was going to kiss him, but he managed to dodge her. Why? He didn’t know. But it made him shudder to think of it.Should he go home now? What excuse could he give for coming back so soon?Involuntarily he bent his steps toward Ash Gate. It was not his intention to visit Femke—not at all, really not! For he didn’t have his Ophelia with him—proof conclusive that when he left home he had not thought of Femke.And when he came in sight of his mills on the Buitensingel—oh, they were silent! Was there no wind? Or were they observing Sunday?The Buitensingel was full of people taking a Sunday stroll. Walter followed the small stream, which led him towards Femke’s house. Soon he stood before the low enclosure; but he did not dare to go in. Why? He put the blame on the absent Ophelia.“If I only had that picture here I’d certainly go in!”That is questionable. Even with the picture he would have probably been just as shy. He didn’t know what he ought to say—or, better, whether he could say anything, or not. He reflected. Suppose Femke’s mother should ask, “Did you want anything?”We—yes, the “gentle reader” and I—we should have known what to answer. I wonder if our wisdom would have been wiser than the stupidity of the child, who stood irresolute and hesitating before the fence?He stood staring at the house, his mouth wide open. His knees trembled, his heart fluttered, his tongue was dry.A small column of smoke curling up from the chimney aroused him. What if a fire should break out! Then he would have to go in. He would rescue her, and carry her away in his arms—far, far away—to the end of the world, or at least outside of the town! Just anywhere where the people wear red velvet and green silk, where the gentlemen carry big swords and the ladies wear long trains. They would be so becoming to Femke. And she should ride horseback, and he would follow her—no, he would ride by her side, with a falcon on his hand!If a fire should break out!But Walter saw that the house was in no danger. This smoke came from the kitchen. He noticed other houses in the neighborhood where cooking seemed to be going on, and everywhere the chimneys were bearing witness to activities below which were presumably similar to those of Femke.Finally a crowd of fellows came along who hadevidently been stopping at one of those establishments where “refreshments” are served. They had been greatly refreshed, and in their exuberance of freshness, so to say, they crowded Walter away from the fence and took him along with them for a little way.He was easily reconciled to this; for why, he thought, should he stand there and watch the smoke? There wasn’t going to be any fire; and then he didn’t have Ophelia with him.But to-morrow! To-morrow he would bring that picture with him! And then he wouldn’t stand at the fence like a baby.He felt ashamed when he thought of his friends in their gay colors, or in armor, with plumes and swords. Those kings and knights and pages—they had been courageous, otherwise they never would have received such high orders and distinctions. Unless there were some change, he felt that he would never be pictured like that.However, he expected that such a change would come—without doubt, surely, certainly, truly! The further he went, the more determined he became to go in the next day and put on a bold front and say: “Good-day, Juffrouw, how do you do?”It was more difficult for him to decide what he would say to Femke.He made up various little speeches in the manner of Floris the Fifth. In case Femke shouldn’t like them he was going to say, “Why, that is from our greatest poet.”And then he would ask her to explain a lot of mysteriouswords in Floris that he hadn’t understood—for instance, “fast fellow,” “coverture,” “chastity,” and others.Walter’s development was determined by his desire to know things. His feeling for Femke, which was hardly real love, was subordinated to his thirst for knowledge. He knew that he couldn’t get much from her, especially book-learning; but it was a pleasure merely to discuss things with her, even if she knew nothing about them.He was curious to know all that she might have to tell him, or to ask him; for no doubt she too had been saving up her impressions for her first friend. But, alas! he was not so certain of her friendship! True, when he was sick she had asked about him; but perhaps she was just passing by, and thought how easy it would be to ring the bell and ask, “How is Walter?”Still it had taken courage to do it. What would Mungo Park have said if he had seen him hesitating before the gate! Walter knew that wasn’t the way to conquer the world.And if anybody had asked Mungo Park: “What do you want in Africa?”Well, he would have answered. Such a traveller in such a book is never embarrassed.Then Walter began to address all sorts of remarks to negro kings that he had conquered with lance and sword. All the women kissed his hand as he rode by on his bay, with fiery red caparison. He inquired patronizingly after those good girls who had nursed him in his illness, “because the strange white man wasfar from mother and sisters and had no home.” He would reward them princely.In all this conquered land Walter was king and Femke was—queen! How magnificent the big red velvet cloak would look on her—and the gold crown!Conquering continents was easy. He was scarcely thirteen; and yet he was afraid that somebody might get ahead of him while he was being detained by the treacherous Pennewip with declensions and conjugations. And, then there were still more things to learn before one could be king, even of a small country. Pocket-change would have to be increased too, for, with all possible economy, six doits a week were insufficient. The Hallemans—well, they had more; but fortunately they were not thinking of Africa. For the present he was not afraid of any competition from that quarter; but other children, nearer the “grown-up” stage, might get the idea in their heads! And then, what would he do to keep his mother from guessing when he made his trips into the “interior” longer, and stayed out later than was allowed by the regulations of the Pieterse household?It was a difficult matter, but he would manage it.All that might happen to him and Femke in Africa would be read afterwards in pretty little books with colored pictures. He already saw himself sitting on a throne, and Femke by his side. She was not proud; she was willing for everybody to know—all those kneeling before her—that she had been a poor wash-girl. She had become queen because Walter had loved her; and now they needn’t kneel any more.On special occasions—well, of course, that was different; for instance, when his mother and Stoffel came to visit him. They should see how all the people honored him—and Femke whom they had treated so badly. But once would be enough; then he would forgive them everything and build them a big house with water-barrels and wash-tubs. For Pennewip he would build a big schoolhouse, with desks and ink-bottles and copy-books and wall maps of Europe and tables of the new weights and measures. Then the old master could give instruction from early in the morning till late at night—or even all night.He was just puzzling over how he was going to reconcile Master Pennewip and the dusky young African to one another when Leentje opened the door.Without noticing it he had got home and rung the door-bell. Unsuspectingly he fell into an environment quite different from that in which he had moved for the last half hour. He scarcely understood what his mother meant when she asked him how the visit turned out, and whether Juffrouw Laps was satisfied with his report on the sermon.Sermon? Laps? He was unprepared for such an examination. He stammered out a sort of miscellaneous and irrelevant jumble of words, but fortunately containing nothing about Africa.It now developed that in the meantime there had been a sudden change in certain details of religious belief.“You see, mother?” said Stoffel. “Just as I’ve always said, it would take a lawyer to explain anything to suit her. She always knows better——”“That’s so,” answered the mother. “She’s crackedor crazy. Now, just tell me, Stoffel, if anyone can expect such a child to remember everything a preacher says. I can’t do it myself; and you can’t do it, either. Master Pennewip can’t do it. I tell you, nobody can do it. And to require that of such a child! She just wants to play the professor; that’s the reason she does it.”Stoffel was of the same opinion. Encouraged by his sympathy the mother became eloquent.“I would like to know what she’s thinking about; or if she thinks she’s a pastor. With all her biblical quotations! And then to torment a child hardly out of a sick bed—it’s a disgrace. You don’t need to go to her. What business have you got with her? I tell you——”Here it occurred to her that she herself had compelled Walter to go, and she interrupted this line of thought to scold Walter and tell him to get out of his Sunday breeches. Her dissatisfaction with herself expressed itself further in a funeral oration on Walter’s last suit, which had cost so much “hard work.”“And then to let that child sit there for an hour without anything to eat or drink! She would——”Walter’s feeling for justice couldn’t let that pass. He assured them that on the contrary—and then that excessive kindness got in his way again. In his confusion he went into all the details of the chocolate.“Well! Why didn’t you say so at once? But it’s all the same. I was going to add that she ought to have given you something to eat. That’s the way such folks are—always grumbling about others and they won’t see themselves. I believe in grace too, and whenI have my housework done I like to hear the Scripture read—but to be everlastingly and eternally prating about it? No, that isn’t religion. What do you say, Stoffel? One must work part of the time. Walter! aren’t you going to pull off those new breeches? I’ve told him a dozen times. Trudie, give him his old ones!”Walter changed his breeches; but he promised himself that in Africa he would wear Sunday breeches every day.Chapter XXThe next day Walter rang the doctor’s door-bell. His heart was in a flutter, for the doctor lived in an imposing house. He was admitted and, after he had been announced, was told just to come upstairs.The maid conducted Walter to the “study,” where the doctor was busy performing one of his paternal duties: he was teaching his children.There were three. A boy, somewhat older than Walter, sat alone in one corner writing at a small table. The other two, a boy of Walter’s age and a girl that seemed to be a few years younger, stood before the table behind which the doctor was sitting. On the table stood a large globe, evidently the subject of discussion. This became clear to Walter later, for, as far as he knew, he had never seen such a large ball. He didn’t know that there was any other way to explain the location of countries except by means of maps. Thus he noticed in the room all sorts of things that he didn’t understand till later.When the maid opened the door of the room he heard the voices of the children, and also that of the father. He even heard laughter; but when he walked in all became as still as death. The two children at the table stood like soldiers. There was something so comical in their attitude that Walter could have laughed at them if he hadn’t been so embarrassed. Even thegirl had a touch of official earnestness in her face more striking than he had seen it in older people, even at church. While the doctor was welcoming Walter and offering him a chair, the boy stood with hands clapped down on the seams of his trousers as if he expected someone to say, “Right about—face!” or, “Forward, column right, march!”The larger boy in the corner had only looked up once, but with that peculiarly hostile expression which distinguishes man from other animals—to the disadvantage of the former. It is noticeable especially in children—sometimes in women.“I’m glad to see you, my boy. It was nice of you to come. What have you there?”—then he turned to the little soldiers.“Remind me afterward to tell you at dinner something about Olivier van Noort. William, you can think of it, can’t you?”Walter squinted at his Lady Macbeth, and was so embarrassed that he was helpless to present it to the doctor. The room was so magnificent; and the furnishings—the big cases full of books! His picture seemed so common and ugly that, if he could have done so, he would have swallowed it.At home they had taught him how he must stand and sit and speak; and now he stood there, as awkward as a cow, stammering and stuttering. Making a supreme effort he managed to get it out that he had “come to thank the doctor” for his recovery—“but God first”!The two soldiers bit their lips; and even the doctor found it difficult to keep a straight face.“God first! Well said, my boy. Have you already thanked God?”“Yes, M’nheer, every evening in bed, and yesterday at church.”Little Sietske unable to control herself any longer had to laugh outright. Her laughter threatened to become contagious. William was busier than usual with his nose; Hermann had come to life and was eyeing Walter slyly.“Order!” thundered the doctor, giving the table a rap with a ruler that made the globe tremble. Walter was frightened. “Order! This is a nice caper during study-hours.”The clock began to strike. Sietske seemed to be counting, for at every stroke she raised a finger.“I am going to——”“Five!” she cried. “All my fingers—just look, five! Five o’clock, papa—Tyrant! Hurrah, hurrah!”Both boys joined in the uproar. It was a quodlibet from “Gaudeamus igitur,” “Vive la joie,” and “God save the king.” Forward, all!Vive la vacance! A bas les tyrans!Revenge! * * * *The children were determined to have their well earned romp; and they had it. Walter rubbed his eyes, and would not believe his ears. It was beyond his comprehension. * * * *“That will do now,” said the doctor. “Come, mamma is waiting dinner—and you, too, my boy!”William took Sietske on his back and Hermann mounted the father. Thus they descended the stairs, Walter bringing up the rear. Lady Macbeth had disappeared,being now crumpled up in Walter’s breast-pocket.Walter was nonplussed. Was this the same man who used the gold pen?—whose coachman wore the furs?How was it possible? Was it a dream, that he and all the family had looked on this man and simply been overcome by his dignity?He couldn’t understand it.Again the atmosphere of the dining-room was quite different from that of the schoolroom, either before or directly after five.“Present the young gentleman to your mamma,” said the doctor, turning to William.“May I do it?” asked Sietske.Doctor Holsma nodded, and the little girl took Walter by the hand and conducted him to a lady who sat at the head of the table preparing the salad.“Mamma, this is a young gentleman—oh, I must know your name. What is your name?”“Walter Pieterse.”“This is Mr. Walter Pieterse, who has come to thank papa, because he—he was sick; and he—the young gentleman is going to stay for dinner, papa?”—the doctor nodded again—“and he’s going to stay for dinner, mamma.”“With mamma’s consent,” said the father.“Yes, with mamma’s consent.”Mevrouw Holsma spoke to Walter kindly and offered him a chair. It was necessary, too.Everything seemed so princely to Walter that he was glad to be seated. Three-fourths of his little figurewas hidden under the table. That was something gained. He was amazed at almost everything he saw and heard. He folded his hands.“Do you want to say a grace, little man?” asked the doctor.“Yes, M’nheer,” Walter stammered.“A good custom. Do you always do that at the table?”“Yes, always—at warm meals, M’nheer!”Those children had been taught good manners. Nobody smiled.Walter bowed his head for a moment; and the doctor took advantage of the opportunity to give the children a look of warning. They remembered; and, if afterwards Walter discovered that he had cut a singular figure in this household, they were not to blame.“You do well to do it,” said Holsma. “We don’t do it; and perhaps we do well not to.”“Certainly,” said the mother. “Everyone must act according to his own conviction.”This simple statement moved Walter more than any of them could have imagined. He—a conviction! That short sentence of Mevrouw Holsma attributed to him a dignity and importance that was strange to him, and gave him a right he had never thought of before. Through the soup he was thinking continually: “I may have a conviction!”It never occurred to him that a thing could be interpreted otherwise than it was interpreted for him by his mother or Stoffel, or some other grown-up person. The whole question of praying, or not praying, did notappear so important to him as this new fact, that he could have a conviction. His heart swelled.The doctor, who understood Walter, recalled him from his thoughts.“Everyone must act according to his conviction; and in order to come to a conviction one has to reflect a long time over the matter. I am convinced that our little guest would like to eat some of those peas. Pass them to him, Sietske.”Walter had grasped the import of Holsma’s words, and also the meaning of this transition to the peas. Walter felt—without putting his feelings into words—that the pedantry of the schoolroom had been put aside at five o’clock, and that his host merely wanted to give him a friendly warning against dogmatic bigotry, without tainting the fresh, wholesome atmosphere of the dining-room.Despite his shy, retiring nature—or, better, in connection with this characteristic—Walter was an extremely intelligent boy. This fact had escaped almost everybody he had come in contact with because of his lack of self-confidence, which prevented him from revealing his true self. He usually seemed to comprehend more slowly than others; but this was because he was less easily satisfied with the result of his thinking. His mind was exacting of knowledge. During Walter’s sickness Holsma had remarked this peculiarity of the boy, and his interest had been enlisted at once.Walter’s shyness was due in a great measure to the manner in which he had been taught what little he knew. Everything his teachers taught him was lookedupon by them as something immutable and irrefutable. Twice two is four, Prince so-and-so is a hero, good children go to heaven, God is great, the Reform Church represents the true faith, etc., etc. It was never hinted to him that there was any room for doubt. Indeed, he was led to believe that his desire to know more about things was improper and even sinful.After all those extraordinary occurrences in the study, Walter was prepared to expect almost anything in the way of the unusual, but that William and Hermann, and even little Sietske, were allowed to help their plates to whatever they wanted—that was more wonderful to him than the aërial voyage of Elias. With Geneviève in the famous wilderness—yes, even in Africa it couldn’t be any more free and easy. He was continually surprised and taken off his guard by the unwonted and unexpected. In fact, his thoughts were so far away that when during dessert the little girl passed him a saucer of cream——Ye gods, it happened and—I must tell it. Oh, if like the chroniclers of old, I might put the blame on some privy councilor, “who unfortunately advised,” etc.But what privy councilor in the whole world could have advised Walter to let that porcelain spoon tilt over the edge of the saucer and fall into Sietske’s lap! He did it, he!Oh, how sad it was. He had just begun to pull himself up in his chair. Another moment and he would have actually been sitting. Perhaps he might have said something soon. The name of a certain country in Africa, which Sietske could not remember a momentbefore, had occurred to him. It was not that he might seem smarter than Sietske that he was going to speak out. No, it was only that he might seem a little less stupid than himself. But now—that miserable spoon!Before he had time to wonder how his awkwardness would be received, Sietske was talking along smoothly about something else—just as if this little “catastrophe” was a matter of course.“Papa, you were going to tell us something about Olivier van Noort.”She arose, wiped off her little skirt and fetched Walter another spoon from the buffet.“Yes, papa, Olivier van Noort! You promised it, papa.”All urged him to tell the story. Even Mevrouw Holsma manifested great interest in it. Walter was aware that this conversation was intended to cover up his accident. He was moved; for he was not accustomed to anything like this. As Sietske took her seat again she noticed a tear creeping down across his cheek.“Mamma, I got a silver spoon. That’s just as good, isn’t it? These porcelain things are so heavy and awkward. They’ve fallen out of my hand three times; and Hermann can’t manage them, either.”The mother nodded to her.“And how it is with Olivier van Noort?”The door-bell rang, and almost immediately afterwards a gentleman entered the room who was greeted by the children as Uncle Sybrand.The host now invited all to the garden and sent Hermann to the study for a book.“You young rascal, don’t you go now and maliciously break that globe. It can’t help it.”Then came the story of Admiral Olivier van Noort and the poor Vice-Admiral Jan Claesz van Ilpendam, who was put ashore in the Strait of Magellan for insubordination. It interested all, and called forth a lively discussion, in which the entire family as well as the guests took part.Chapter XXITo readers of a certain class of fiction it will no doubt seem strange if I say that Walter’s visit to the Holsma family influenced greatly his spiritual development. Not immediately; but a seed had been planted which was to grow later. He saw now that after all independent thought was possible, even if he could not yet allow himself that luxury. The mere knowledge that there were other opinions in the world than those of his daily mentors was a long stride forward.He was depressed on account of his lack of knowledge. Those children knew so much more than he did; and this made him sad.They had spoken of someone who was startled to find footprints. Who was it? The child had never heard of Defoe’s hermit. He asked Stoffel.“Footprints? Footprints? Well, you must tell me what footprints you mean—whose footprints. You must give names when you ask questions.”“That’s right,” said the mother, “when you want to know anything you must mention names. And Mevrouw made the salad herself? Well, that’s strange. The girl must have been out somewhere.”As to other “strange” things, which were not likely to meet the approbation of his family, Walter was silent. Not a word about that Saturnalia, or the omission of grace at a “warm meal”! Nor did he mention theliberties that were allowed the children, or the freedom with which they joined in the conversation. Perhaps it was a superfluous precaution. That bearskin would have been excused for many shortcomings.Juffrouw Pieterse asked repeatedly if he had been “respectable.” Walter said he had, but without knowing exactly what she meant. That affair with the spoon—had it been respectable? He didn’t care to have this question decided—at least by his mother. But it was nice of Sietske; and wouldn’t he have done the same?He learned that the day was approaching when he must return to school. More than ever he felt that this source of knowledge was insufficient for him; but opposition was not to be thought of. He was dissatisfied with himself, with everything.“I shall never amount to anything,” he sighed.His Lady Macbeth seemed uglier to him than ever. He tore her up. And Ophelia?Goodness! He hadn’t thought of Femke the whole day. Was it because she was only a wash-girl, while the doctor’s children were so aristocratic? Walter censured himself.He took advantage of the first opportunity to pay his debt in that quarter. For he felt that it was a debt; and this consciousness gave him courage. Picture in hand, he passed the familiar fence this time and knocked boldly on the door. His heart was thumping terribly; but he must do it! In a moment he stood before Femke. The lady of his heart was quietly darning stockings. It is hard on the writer; but this little detail was a matter of indifference to Walter.“Oh!” she cried, extending her hand. “Mother, this is the young gentleman we saw that time—the little boy who was so sick. And how are you now? You look pale.”“Take a seat, little boy,” said the mother. “Yes, you do look pale. Worms, of course.”“No, no, mother. The child has had nervous fever.”“All right—fever, then; but it could be from worms. Give him a cup, Femke. It won’t hurt you to drink coffee; but if it were worms——”Mrs. Claus’s worms were more in Walter’s way than the stockings.“Where does your mother have her washing done?” she asked. “Not that I want to pump you—not at all. But if she isn’t satisfied with her wash-woman—it sometimes happens, you understand. Everybody must look out for himself; and I just thought I’d mention it. Whenever there are any ink-spots Femke takes them out with oxalic acid; and it never makes any holes—yes, it did happen once, and we had to pay for a pair of cuffs. You can ask Femke.”The fact was, he wanted to ask Femke something else; and she knew it. The story of Aztalpa had left its marks on her mind. But she was hampered very much like Walter was at home. She couldn’t say, “Mother, speak a bit more Peruvian!” So she simply asked what the roll was that he had in his hand.Walter was confused, but he managed to stammer that it was a present for her. Femke said she would always take good care of the picture.“Yes,” said the mother, “and you must iron outthose creases. We iron, too, little boy, and we deliver the clothes ready to put on. Nobody can complain. You can tell your mother. And your collar—it isn’t ironed nicely—and such bluing! Ask Femke. Femke, isn’t the blue in stripes?”His collar not ironed nicely? and blued in stripes? And the infallible Pietro had laundered it! Even here, were there differences in method and conception? And in this respect, too, was the Pieterse tradition not the only one that brought happiness?Femke was on nettles. She studied Ophelia, wondering who she was, and tried to turn the conversation. At last something occurred to her. It was necessary for her to run some errand or other, and “the young gentleman” could “accompany” her a part of the way.“As far as I’m concerned,” said the mother.The young couple retired, taking one of those ways which in the neighborhood of Amsterdam are simply called “the ways.” That is all they are. Whoever walks there for pleasure must take a good stock of impressions with him, in order to escape tedium.But Walter and Femke were not lacking in this respect. Walter had so much to tell Femke that he could scarcely hope to get through; and she, too, had thought of him more than she was willing to admit, and more than he had any idea of. She began by saying that she hadn’t told her mother of her unfriendly reception by Walter’s mother and sisters, because she didn’t want her mother——“Oh, Femke—and you thought I would come?”“Yes.” said Femke, hesitating, but still with areadiness that delighted Walter. “Yes, of course I expected to see you again. And I had a mass said for your recovery.”“Really?” said Walter, who hardly knew what it meant. “You did that for me?”“Yes, and I prayed, too. I should have been sad if you had died. For I believe you are a good boy.”“I ought to have come sooner; and I wanted to, but—Femke, I was afraid.”He related to her how he had been near her on Sunday. The girl attributed his timidity to his diffidence toward her mother.“My mother is a good woman. She wouldn’t hurt anybody, but—you understand. She doesn’t mix with people much. I understand the world better, because, you see, I was a nurse for three weeks. I was only substituting; I was too young to be a real nurse. It was at a relation’s of ours, where the girl was sick. You know we really come of a good family. But that makes no difference. Tell me, are you well and strong again?”Walter told her now all about his sickness, and soon he came involuntarily to the thing that gave him most trouble, his defective knowledge.“All the children know French; but at our school it isn’t taught. It’s impossible to be a great man without knowing French.”Walter had difficulty in explaining to her that he meant something other than the possession of three houses, though that might not be bad.“I should like—you understand? I should like—yes—I should like—how shall I explain?”The sovereignty of Africa was on the end of his tongue; but he didn’t have the courage to put his dreams into words.“You know, Femke, that we live here in Europe. Now, down there in the south, far away—I will draw it for you. We can sit down here and I will show you exactly what I mean.”He selected some small sticks suitable for making outlines on the ground, then he and Femke sat down on a low pile of boards. He proceeded to scratch up the sand for some distance around.“That is Europe. The earth is round; that is, it consists of two halves, like a doughnut. You see, it looks like a pair of spectacles. With that half we are not concerned. That’s America. You can put your feet on it if you want to. Here is where we live; there is England; and here is Africa. The people there are uncivilized. They can’t read, and they don’t wear many clothes. But when a traveler comes along they are very nice to him—the book says so. I’m going down there and teach all the people to read and give them clothes and see to it that there is no injustice done in the whole land. And then we will——”“I, too?” asked Femke in amazement.“Why, certainly! I wanted to ask you if you were willing to go with me. We will be man and wife, you understand; so when I get to be king you will be——”“I? Queen?”She laughed. Involuntarily she rose and trampled to pieces all the kingdoms that Walter had just laid at her feet.“But—won’t you be my wife?”“Oh, you boy! How did you get such nonsense into your head? You are still a child!”“Will you wait then till I’m grown up? Will you let me be your friend?”“Certainly! Only you mustn’t think of that nonsense—not that you may not go to Africa later. Why not? Many people go on journeys. Formerly there lived a carpenter near us, and he went to the Haarlem with his whole family. But—marrying!”She laughed again. It pained Walter. The poor boy’s first proposal was turning out badly.Suddenly Femke became serious.“I know that you are a good boy; and I think a great deal of you.”“And I!” cried Walter. “Femke, I have thought of you all the time—when I was sick—in my fever—I don’t know what I thought of in my fever, but I think it must have been you. And I talked to the picture I painted for you as if it were you; and that picture answered like you and looked like you. I was Kusco and Telasco, and you were Aztalpa, the daughter of the sun. Tell me, Femke, may I be your friend?”The girl reflected a moment; and in her pure, innocent heart she felt the desire to do good. Was that seventeen-year-old girl conscious of the influence that Walter’s childish soul exerted upon her? Scarcely. But she wanted to give him a less cruel answer.“Certainly, certainly you shall be my friend. But—but——”She was hunting for some excuse that would not hurt him, and still let him see the difference in their ages. He had grown during his illness, to be sure,but still—she could have carried him on her arm. And he had dreamed of rescuing her from a fire!“My friend, yes. But then you must do everything that I require.”“Everything, everything! Tell me quick what I can do for you.”It was painful for the girl. She didn’t know what she should require; but she was under the necessity of naming something. She had always heard that it was good for children to study hard. What if she should spur him on to do that?“Listen, Walter. Just for fun I told my mother that you were the best in school.”“I?” cried Walter abashed.“Study hard and be the first in school inside the next three months,” said Femke to the conqueror of continents, unaware of the sarcasm that lay in her words. “Otherwise, you see, my mother might think I had made fun of you; and I don’t want that to happen. If you will only do that——”“I will do it, Femke!”“Then you must go home and begin at once.”Thus she sent him away. As she told him “Good-bye” she noticed all at once that he was too large for her to kiss. A few hours later, when Father Jansen was calling on her mother and incidentally saw Walter’s painting, Walter suddenly became a child again. The priest had said that in Dutch Ophelia meant Flora, who was the patron-saint of roses and forget-me-nots.“Oh, that picture is from a little boy, a very small boy. He’s about ten years old—or nine. He’s certainly not older than nine!”“Girl, you are foolish!” cried the mother. “The boy is fifteen.”“Yes, that may be—but I just meant that he’s still only a child.”She stuck Ophelia away in some hidden nook, and Mrs. Claus and Father Jansen never saw that new edition of the old flower-goddess again.“Femke, I will do it!” Walter had said.There was really reason to believe that he would learn faster now; but Pennewip’s instruction would wear Femke’s colors. Walter knew very well that in requiring this service she had had his own welfare in view; but this showed her interest in him, and was not so bad. How would it have looked, he thought, if, after all that had gone before, he had answered: “Everything except that!”Of course he would have greatly preferred to serve his lady on some journey full of adventure. But one cannot select for one’s self heroic deeds. In these days Hercules and St. George would have to put up withminiaturedragons.At all events, Walter took hold of his work in earnest. He studied his “Ippel,” his “Strabbe,” his “National History” and even the “Gender of Nouns,” and everything else necessary to the education of a good Netherlander. Poetry was included; and Walter’s accomplishments along this line were such that other “Herculeses” might have envied him.He had never read the stories of tournaments. No enchantress gave him a charmed coat of mail; no Minerva put the head of Medusa on his shield—no,nothing of all that. But—Keesje, the butcher’s boy, might look sharp for his laurels!In justice to Walter it must be said that he gave his opponent fair warning, in true knightly style.At the end of three months Walter was actually the first in his classes. Pennewip was compelled to take notice of it.“It is strange,” he remarked. “I might say that it is remarkable. Yes, in a way, it is unprecedented—without a parallel!”At home the result was that a great council was held regarding Walter’s future. He didn’t want to become a compositor; and to be a sailor—that would have suited him, but his mother was opposed to it. Stoffel, too, objected on the ground that usually only young people who are worthless on land are sent to sea.Thus Walter’s plans for conquest were slipping away from him. He was not attracted by the brilliant careers that were proposed: They left Africa out of account. He didn’t want to be a school-teacher, or a shoemaker, or a clerk, or a counter-jumper.However, after all authorities had been heard, Stoffel came to the conclusion that Walter was peculiarly well fitted for “business.” Juffrouw Pieterse agreed with him thoroughly.

Chapter XIXWalter had been to church: that was now behind him. Stoffel thought the pastor had preached a beautiful sermon, and said that “in a way all he said could be accepted.” He hoped that it would “bear fruit.”“Yes,” said the mother, “and he mustn’t tear his new breeches again. They cost too much hard work for that.”As a matter of fact the “hard work” done in the Pieterse family might be regarded as a negligible quantity. There was the necessary housework, and the usual complaining—or boasting, if you will—but this was to be expected.That Walter had postponed his visit to go to church was a result of the frightful threats of Juffrouw Laps. She cited Second Chronicles xvi. 12, and in the face of this text the Pieterses were not able successfully to defend their new and more liberal position. Juffrouw Pieterse could only say that the Bible was not to be interpreted that way, as if everything in it applied to a given individual.But Juffrouw Laps stuck to it, that if one has faith and grace one may come through all right; whereupon Juffrouw Pieterse expressed her willingness at all times to take advice.“Those are the essential things; through them we are saved! And—send him to me the first of the week.Or he can come Sunday, but after church. Then he can tell me about the sermon, even if the pastors are—but what does a child know about it!”Juffrouw Laps didn’t think much of pastors. She held that people with grace in their hearts can understand God’s word without Greek and Latin.“Yes, Sunday after church. I will count upon it.” And in order to make her invitation more insistent she mentioned certain sweets that she usually served her guests at that time.Supposing that Juffrouw Laps was really anxious for Walter to come, we must admit that she showed deep knowledge of boy-nature.As for Walter, he was afraid to be alone with this pious lady. For him she was the living embodiment of all the plagues that are made use of in the Old Testament to convert rebellious tribes to the true faith. For instance, thunder and lightning, pestilence, abysses, boils, flaming swords, etc.If he had had the courage he would have asked her just to deposit the promised dainties somewhere outside of her flat. He would find them then. But he didn’t have the courage.“And why didn’t you go?” asked the mother when Stoffel’s enthusiasm over the sermon had begun to die down.Walter said he had a pain in his stomach, which children always have when they want to bridge over disagreeable duties. With a better understanding between the parents and children this disease would be less frequent.“I don’t believe you have any pain in your stomach,”declared the mother. “It’s only because you’re a bad child and never do what you’re told to do.”Stoffel agreed with her; and then a council of war was held. Walter was condemned to go to Juffrouw Laps’s at once; and he went.Expecting some terrible ordeal, he was greatly embarrassed and confused by the show of friendliness with which he was received.“And you did come, my dear boy! But you are so late! Church has been out a long time. See what I have for you, expressly foryou!”She thrust him into a chair at the table and shoved all sorts of sweets over to him. Walter’s embarrassment increased; and he felt even less at ease when she began to stroke him and call him pet names.“Now, tell me about the sermon,” she said, when the child tried to escape the tenderness and affection to which he was not accustomed. “What did the pastor say?”“The text——”“But that’s all right—afterwards, when your mouth is empty. You must eat a few cakes first. Nobody can do everything at once. There is chocolate; and you’re to have a little dram, too. I’ve always said that you are a nice boy; but they’re forever plaguing you so. But you’re not eating enough; do just as if you were at home.”For Walter that was not the right expression. At home!His first surprise over Walter began to be possessed by a feeling of fear. Why, he could not have told to save him.Suddenly he got up and declared that his mother had told him not to stay long.There wasn’t a word of truth in it. Juffrouw Laps protested, but Walter held his ground. Despite all of that kindness Walter was able to escape from the enemy.Promising “to come back soon” he ran down the steps and into the street.An indescribable feeling of freedom regained thrilled through him. He had escaped. It was incomprehensible even to him. Never had he been received so kindly, so cordially; never had he been treated in a manner approaching this. But why his antipathy? When he left she was going to kiss him, but he managed to dodge her. Why? He didn’t know. But it made him shudder to think of it.Should he go home now? What excuse could he give for coming back so soon?Involuntarily he bent his steps toward Ash Gate. It was not his intention to visit Femke—not at all, really not! For he didn’t have his Ophelia with him—proof conclusive that when he left home he had not thought of Femke.And when he came in sight of his mills on the Buitensingel—oh, they were silent! Was there no wind? Or were they observing Sunday?The Buitensingel was full of people taking a Sunday stroll. Walter followed the small stream, which led him towards Femke’s house. Soon he stood before the low enclosure; but he did not dare to go in. Why? He put the blame on the absent Ophelia.“If I only had that picture here I’d certainly go in!”That is questionable. Even with the picture he would have probably been just as shy. He didn’t know what he ought to say—or, better, whether he could say anything, or not. He reflected. Suppose Femke’s mother should ask, “Did you want anything?”We—yes, the “gentle reader” and I—we should have known what to answer. I wonder if our wisdom would have been wiser than the stupidity of the child, who stood irresolute and hesitating before the fence?He stood staring at the house, his mouth wide open. His knees trembled, his heart fluttered, his tongue was dry.A small column of smoke curling up from the chimney aroused him. What if a fire should break out! Then he would have to go in. He would rescue her, and carry her away in his arms—far, far away—to the end of the world, or at least outside of the town! Just anywhere where the people wear red velvet and green silk, where the gentlemen carry big swords and the ladies wear long trains. They would be so becoming to Femke. And she should ride horseback, and he would follow her—no, he would ride by her side, with a falcon on his hand!If a fire should break out!But Walter saw that the house was in no danger. This smoke came from the kitchen. He noticed other houses in the neighborhood where cooking seemed to be going on, and everywhere the chimneys were bearing witness to activities below which were presumably similar to those of Femke.Finally a crowd of fellows came along who hadevidently been stopping at one of those establishments where “refreshments” are served. They had been greatly refreshed, and in their exuberance of freshness, so to say, they crowded Walter away from the fence and took him along with them for a little way.He was easily reconciled to this; for why, he thought, should he stand there and watch the smoke? There wasn’t going to be any fire; and then he didn’t have Ophelia with him.But to-morrow! To-morrow he would bring that picture with him! And then he wouldn’t stand at the fence like a baby.He felt ashamed when he thought of his friends in their gay colors, or in armor, with plumes and swords. Those kings and knights and pages—they had been courageous, otherwise they never would have received such high orders and distinctions. Unless there were some change, he felt that he would never be pictured like that.However, he expected that such a change would come—without doubt, surely, certainly, truly! The further he went, the more determined he became to go in the next day and put on a bold front and say: “Good-day, Juffrouw, how do you do?”It was more difficult for him to decide what he would say to Femke.He made up various little speeches in the manner of Floris the Fifth. In case Femke shouldn’t like them he was going to say, “Why, that is from our greatest poet.”And then he would ask her to explain a lot of mysteriouswords in Floris that he hadn’t understood—for instance, “fast fellow,” “coverture,” “chastity,” and others.Walter’s development was determined by his desire to know things. His feeling for Femke, which was hardly real love, was subordinated to his thirst for knowledge. He knew that he couldn’t get much from her, especially book-learning; but it was a pleasure merely to discuss things with her, even if she knew nothing about them.He was curious to know all that she might have to tell him, or to ask him; for no doubt she too had been saving up her impressions for her first friend. But, alas! he was not so certain of her friendship! True, when he was sick she had asked about him; but perhaps she was just passing by, and thought how easy it would be to ring the bell and ask, “How is Walter?”Still it had taken courage to do it. What would Mungo Park have said if he had seen him hesitating before the gate! Walter knew that wasn’t the way to conquer the world.And if anybody had asked Mungo Park: “What do you want in Africa?”Well, he would have answered. Such a traveller in such a book is never embarrassed.Then Walter began to address all sorts of remarks to negro kings that he had conquered with lance and sword. All the women kissed his hand as he rode by on his bay, with fiery red caparison. He inquired patronizingly after those good girls who had nursed him in his illness, “because the strange white man wasfar from mother and sisters and had no home.” He would reward them princely.In all this conquered land Walter was king and Femke was—queen! How magnificent the big red velvet cloak would look on her—and the gold crown!Conquering continents was easy. He was scarcely thirteen; and yet he was afraid that somebody might get ahead of him while he was being detained by the treacherous Pennewip with declensions and conjugations. And, then there were still more things to learn before one could be king, even of a small country. Pocket-change would have to be increased too, for, with all possible economy, six doits a week were insufficient. The Hallemans—well, they had more; but fortunately they were not thinking of Africa. For the present he was not afraid of any competition from that quarter; but other children, nearer the “grown-up” stage, might get the idea in their heads! And then, what would he do to keep his mother from guessing when he made his trips into the “interior” longer, and stayed out later than was allowed by the regulations of the Pieterse household?It was a difficult matter, but he would manage it.All that might happen to him and Femke in Africa would be read afterwards in pretty little books with colored pictures. He already saw himself sitting on a throne, and Femke by his side. She was not proud; she was willing for everybody to know—all those kneeling before her—that she had been a poor wash-girl. She had become queen because Walter had loved her; and now they needn’t kneel any more.On special occasions—well, of course, that was different; for instance, when his mother and Stoffel came to visit him. They should see how all the people honored him—and Femke whom they had treated so badly. But once would be enough; then he would forgive them everything and build them a big house with water-barrels and wash-tubs. For Pennewip he would build a big schoolhouse, with desks and ink-bottles and copy-books and wall maps of Europe and tables of the new weights and measures. Then the old master could give instruction from early in the morning till late at night—or even all night.He was just puzzling over how he was going to reconcile Master Pennewip and the dusky young African to one another when Leentje opened the door.Without noticing it he had got home and rung the door-bell. Unsuspectingly he fell into an environment quite different from that in which he had moved for the last half hour. He scarcely understood what his mother meant when she asked him how the visit turned out, and whether Juffrouw Laps was satisfied with his report on the sermon.Sermon? Laps? He was unprepared for such an examination. He stammered out a sort of miscellaneous and irrelevant jumble of words, but fortunately containing nothing about Africa.It now developed that in the meantime there had been a sudden change in certain details of religious belief.“You see, mother?” said Stoffel. “Just as I’ve always said, it would take a lawyer to explain anything to suit her. She always knows better——”“That’s so,” answered the mother. “She’s crackedor crazy. Now, just tell me, Stoffel, if anyone can expect such a child to remember everything a preacher says. I can’t do it myself; and you can’t do it, either. Master Pennewip can’t do it. I tell you, nobody can do it. And to require that of such a child! She just wants to play the professor; that’s the reason she does it.”Stoffel was of the same opinion. Encouraged by his sympathy the mother became eloquent.“I would like to know what she’s thinking about; or if she thinks she’s a pastor. With all her biblical quotations! And then to torment a child hardly out of a sick bed—it’s a disgrace. You don’t need to go to her. What business have you got with her? I tell you——”Here it occurred to her that she herself had compelled Walter to go, and she interrupted this line of thought to scold Walter and tell him to get out of his Sunday breeches. Her dissatisfaction with herself expressed itself further in a funeral oration on Walter’s last suit, which had cost so much “hard work.”“And then to let that child sit there for an hour without anything to eat or drink! She would——”Walter’s feeling for justice couldn’t let that pass. He assured them that on the contrary—and then that excessive kindness got in his way again. In his confusion he went into all the details of the chocolate.“Well! Why didn’t you say so at once? But it’s all the same. I was going to add that she ought to have given you something to eat. That’s the way such folks are—always grumbling about others and they won’t see themselves. I believe in grace too, and whenI have my housework done I like to hear the Scripture read—but to be everlastingly and eternally prating about it? No, that isn’t religion. What do you say, Stoffel? One must work part of the time. Walter! aren’t you going to pull off those new breeches? I’ve told him a dozen times. Trudie, give him his old ones!”Walter changed his breeches; but he promised himself that in Africa he would wear Sunday breeches every day.

Walter had been to church: that was now behind him. Stoffel thought the pastor had preached a beautiful sermon, and said that “in a way all he said could be accepted.” He hoped that it would “bear fruit.”

“Yes,” said the mother, “and he mustn’t tear his new breeches again. They cost too much hard work for that.”

As a matter of fact the “hard work” done in the Pieterse family might be regarded as a negligible quantity. There was the necessary housework, and the usual complaining—or boasting, if you will—but this was to be expected.

That Walter had postponed his visit to go to church was a result of the frightful threats of Juffrouw Laps. She cited Second Chronicles xvi. 12, and in the face of this text the Pieterses were not able successfully to defend their new and more liberal position. Juffrouw Pieterse could only say that the Bible was not to be interpreted that way, as if everything in it applied to a given individual.

But Juffrouw Laps stuck to it, that if one has faith and grace one may come through all right; whereupon Juffrouw Pieterse expressed her willingness at all times to take advice.

“Those are the essential things; through them we are saved! And—send him to me the first of the week.Or he can come Sunday, but after church. Then he can tell me about the sermon, even if the pastors are—but what does a child know about it!”

Juffrouw Laps didn’t think much of pastors. She held that people with grace in their hearts can understand God’s word without Greek and Latin.

“Yes, Sunday after church. I will count upon it.” And in order to make her invitation more insistent she mentioned certain sweets that she usually served her guests at that time.

Supposing that Juffrouw Laps was really anxious for Walter to come, we must admit that she showed deep knowledge of boy-nature.

As for Walter, he was afraid to be alone with this pious lady. For him she was the living embodiment of all the plagues that are made use of in the Old Testament to convert rebellious tribes to the true faith. For instance, thunder and lightning, pestilence, abysses, boils, flaming swords, etc.

If he had had the courage he would have asked her just to deposit the promised dainties somewhere outside of her flat. He would find them then. But he didn’t have the courage.

“And why didn’t you go?” asked the mother when Stoffel’s enthusiasm over the sermon had begun to die down.

Walter said he had a pain in his stomach, which children always have when they want to bridge over disagreeable duties. With a better understanding between the parents and children this disease would be less frequent.

“I don’t believe you have any pain in your stomach,”declared the mother. “It’s only because you’re a bad child and never do what you’re told to do.”

Stoffel agreed with her; and then a council of war was held. Walter was condemned to go to Juffrouw Laps’s at once; and he went.

Expecting some terrible ordeal, he was greatly embarrassed and confused by the show of friendliness with which he was received.

“And you did come, my dear boy! But you are so late! Church has been out a long time. See what I have for you, expressly foryou!”

She thrust him into a chair at the table and shoved all sorts of sweets over to him. Walter’s embarrassment increased; and he felt even less at ease when she began to stroke him and call him pet names.

“Now, tell me about the sermon,” she said, when the child tried to escape the tenderness and affection to which he was not accustomed. “What did the pastor say?”

“The text——”

“But that’s all right—afterwards, when your mouth is empty. You must eat a few cakes first. Nobody can do everything at once. There is chocolate; and you’re to have a little dram, too. I’ve always said that you are a nice boy; but they’re forever plaguing you so. But you’re not eating enough; do just as if you were at home.”

For Walter that was not the right expression. At home!

His first surprise over Walter began to be possessed by a feeling of fear. Why, he could not have told to save him.

Suddenly he got up and declared that his mother had told him not to stay long.

There wasn’t a word of truth in it. Juffrouw Laps protested, but Walter held his ground. Despite all of that kindness Walter was able to escape from the enemy.

Promising “to come back soon” he ran down the steps and into the street.

An indescribable feeling of freedom regained thrilled through him. He had escaped. It was incomprehensible even to him. Never had he been received so kindly, so cordially; never had he been treated in a manner approaching this. But why his antipathy? When he left she was going to kiss him, but he managed to dodge her. Why? He didn’t know. But it made him shudder to think of it.

Should he go home now? What excuse could he give for coming back so soon?

Involuntarily he bent his steps toward Ash Gate. It was not his intention to visit Femke—not at all, really not! For he didn’t have his Ophelia with him—proof conclusive that when he left home he had not thought of Femke.

And when he came in sight of his mills on the Buitensingel—oh, they were silent! Was there no wind? Or were they observing Sunday?

The Buitensingel was full of people taking a Sunday stroll. Walter followed the small stream, which led him towards Femke’s house. Soon he stood before the low enclosure; but he did not dare to go in. Why? He put the blame on the absent Ophelia.

“If I only had that picture here I’d certainly go in!”

That is questionable. Even with the picture he would have probably been just as shy. He didn’t know what he ought to say—or, better, whether he could say anything, or not. He reflected. Suppose Femke’s mother should ask, “Did you want anything?”

We—yes, the “gentle reader” and I—we should have known what to answer. I wonder if our wisdom would have been wiser than the stupidity of the child, who stood irresolute and hesitating before the fence?

He stood staring at the house, his mouth wide open. His knees trembled, his heart fluttered, his tongue was dry.

A small column of smoke curling up from the chimney aroused him. What if a fire should break out! Then he would have to go in. He would rescue her, and carry her away in his arms—far, far away—to the end of the world, or at least outside of the town! Just anywhere where the people wear red velvet and green silk, where the gentlemen carry big swords and the ladies wear long trains. They would be so becoming to Femke. And she should ride horseback, and he would follow her—no, he would ride by her side, with a falcon on his hand!

If a fire should break out!

But Walter saw that the house was in no danger. This smoke came from the kitchen. He noticed other houses in the neighborhood where cooking seemed to be going on, and everywhere the chimneys were bearing witness to activities below which were presumably similar to those of Femke.

Finally a crowd of fellows came along who hadevidently been stopping at one of those establishments where “refreshments” are served. They had been greatly refreshed, and in their exuberance of freshness, so to say, they crowded Walter away from the fence and took him along with them for a little way.

He was easily reconciled to this; for why, he thought, should he stand there and watch the smoke? There wasn’t going to be any fire; and then he didn’t have Ophelia with him.

But to-morrow! To-morrow he would bring that picture with him! And then he wouldn’t stand at the fence like a baby.

He felt ashamed when he thought of his friends in their gay colors, or in armor, with plumes and swords. Those kings and knights and pages—they had been courageous, otherwise they never would have received such high orders and distinctions. Unless there were some change, he felt that he would never be pictured like that.

However, he expected that such a change would come—without doubt, surely, certainly, truly! The further he went, the more determined he became to go in the next day and put on a bold front and say: “Good-day, Juffrouw, how do you do?”

It was more difficult for him to decide what he would say to Femke.

He made up various little speeches in the manner of Floris the Fifth. In case Femke shouldn’t like them he was going to say, “Why, that is from our greatest poet.”

And then he would ask her to explain a lot of mysteriouswords in Floris that he hadn’t understood—for instance, “fast fellow,” “coverture,” “chastity,” and others.

Walter’s development was determined by his desire to know things. His feeling for Femke, which was hardly real love, was subordinated to his thirst for knowledge. He knew that he couldn’t get much from her, especially book-learning; but it was a pleasure merely to discuss things with her, even if she knew nothing about them.

He was curious to know all that she might have to tell him, or to ask him; for no doubt she too had been saving up her impressions for her first friend. But, alas! he was not so certain of her friendship! True, when he was sick she had asked about him; but perhaps she was just passing by, and thought how easy it would be to ring the bell and ask, “How is Walter?”

Still it had taken courage to do it. What would Mungo Park have said if he had seen him hesitating before the gate! Walter knew that wasn’t the way to conquer the world.

And if anybody had asked Mungo Park: “What do you want in Africa?”

Well, he would have answered. Such a traveller in such a book is never embarrassed.

Then Walter began to address all sorts of remarks to negro kings that he had conquered with lance and sword. All the women kissed his hand as he rode by on his bay, with fiery red caparison. He inquired patronizingly after those good girls who had nursed him in his illness, “because the strange white man wasfar from mother and sisters and had no home.” He would reward them princely.

In all this conquered land Walter was king and Femke was—queen! How magnificent the big red velvet cloak would look on her—and the gold crown!

Conquering continents was easy. He was scarcely thirteen; and yet he was afraid that somebody might get ahead of him while he was being detained by the treacherous Pennewip with declensions and conjugations. And, then there were still more things to learn before one could be king, even of a small country. Pocket-change would have to be increased too, for, with all possible economy, six doits a week were insufficient. The Hallemans—well, they had more; but fortunately they were not thinking of Africa. For the present he was not afraid of any competition from that quarter; but other children, nearer the “grown-up” stage, might get the idea in their heads! And then, what would he do to keep his mother from guessing when he made his trips into the “interior” longer, and stayed out later than was allowed by the regulations of the Pieterse household?

It was a difficult matter, but he would manage it.

All that might happen to him and Femke in Africa would be read afterwards in pretty little books with colored pictures. He already saw himself sitting on a throne, and Femke by his side. She was not proud; she was willing for everybody to know—all those kneeling before her—that she had been a poor wash-girl. She had become queen because Walter had loved her; and now they needn’t kneel any more.

On special occasions—well, of course, that was different; for instance, when his mother and Stoffel came to visit him. They should see how all the people honored him—and Femke whom they had treated so badly. But once would be enough; then he would forgive them everything and build them a big house with water-barrels and wash-tubs. For Pennewip he would build a big schoolhouse, with desks and ink-bottles and copy-books and wall maps of Europe and tables of the new weights and measures. Then the old master could give instruction from early in the morning till late at night—or even all night.

He was just puzzling over how he was going to reconcile Master Pennewip and the dusky young African to one another when Leentje opened the door.

Without noticing it he had got home and rung the door-bell. Unsuspectingly he fell into an environment quite different from that in which he had moved for the last half hour. He scarcely understood what his mother meant when she asked him how the visit turned out, and whether Juffrouw Laps was satisfied with his report on the sermon.

Sermon? Laps? He was unprepared for such an examination. He stammered out a sort of miscellaneous and irrelevant jumble of words, but fortunately containing nothing about Africa.

It now developed that in the meantime there had been a sudden change in certain details of religious belief.

“You see, mother?” said Stoffel. “Just as I’ve always said, it would take a lawyer to explain anything to suit her. She always knows better——”

“That’s so,” answered the mother. “She’s crackedor crazy. Now, just tell me, Stoffel, if anyone can expect such a child to remember everything a preacher says. I can’t do it myself; and you can’t do it, either. Master Pennewip can’t do it. I tell you, nobody can do it. And to require that of such a child! She just wants to play the professor; that’s the reason she does it.”

Stoffel was of the same opinion. Encouraged by his sympathy the mother became eloquent.

“I would like to know what she’s thinking about; or if she thinks she’s a pastor. With all her biblical quotations! And then to torment a child hardly out of a sick bed—it’s a disgrace. You don’t need to go to her. What business have you got with her? I tell you——”

Here it occurred to her that she herself had compelled Walter to go, and she interrupted this line of thought to scold Walter and tell him to get out of his Sunday breeches. Her dissatisfaction with herself expressed itself further in a funeral oration on Walter’s last suit, which had cost so much “hard work.”

“And then to let that child sit there for an hour without anything to eat or drink! She would——”

Walter’s feeling for justice couldn’t let that pass. He assured them that on the contrary—and then that excessive kindness got in his way again. In his confusion he went into all the details of the chocolate.

“Well! Why didn’t you say so at once? But it’s all the same. I was going to add that she ought to have given you something to eat. That’s the way such folks are—always grumbling about others and they won’t see themselves. I believe in grace too, and whenI have my housework done I like to hear the Scripture read—but to be everlastingly and eternally prating about it? No, that isn’t religion. What do you say, Stoffel? One must work part of the time. Walter! aren’t you going to pull off those new breeches? I’ve told him a dozen times. Trudie, give him his old ones!”

Walter changed his breeches; but he promised himself that in Africa he would wear Sunday breeches every day.

Chapter XXThe next day Walter rang the doctor’s door-bell. His heart was in a flutter, for the doctor lived in an imposing house. He was admitted and, after he had been announced, was told just to come upstairs.The maid conducted Walter to the “study,” where the doctor was busy performing one of his paternal duties: he was teaching his children.There were three. A boy, somewhat older than Walter, sat alone in one corner writing at a small table. The other two, a boy of Walter’s age and a girl that seemed to be a few years younger, stood before the table behind which the doctor was sitting. On the table stood a large globe, evidently the subject of discussion. This became clear to Walter later, for, as far as he knew, he had never seen such a large ball. He didn’t know that there was any other way to explain the location of countries except by means of maps. Thus he noticed in the room all sorts of things that he didn’t understand till later.When the maid opened the door of the room he heard the voices of the children, and also that of the father. He even heard laughter; but when he walked in all became as still as death. The two children at the table stood like soldiers. There was something so comical in their attitude that Walter could have laughed at them if he hadn’t been so embarrassed. Even thegirl had a touch of official earnestness in her face more striking than he had seen it in older people, even at church. While the doctor was welcoming Walter and offering him a chair, the boy stood with hands clapped down on the seams of his trousers as if he expected someone to say, “Right about—face!” or, “Forward, column right, march!”The larger boy in the corner had only looked up once, but with that peculiarly hostile expression which distinguishes man from other animals—to the disadvantage of the former. It is noticeable especially in children—sometimes in women.“I’m glad to see you, my boy. It was nice of you to come. What have you there?”—then he turned to the little soldiers.“Remind me afterward to tell you at dinner something about Olivier van Noort. William, you can think of it, can’t you?”Walter squinted at his Lady Macbeth, and was so embarrassed that he was helpless to present it to the doctor. The room was so magnificent; and the furnishings—the big cases full of books! His picture seemed so common and ugly that, if he could have done so, he would have swallowed it.At home they had taught him how he must stand and sit and speak; and now he stood there, as awkward as a cow, stammering and stuttering. Making a supreme effort he managed to get it out that he had “come to thank the doctor” for his recovery—“but God first”!The two soldiers bit their lips; and even the doctor found it difficult to keep a straight face.“God first! Well said, my boy. Have you already thanked God?”“Yes, M’nheer, every evening in bed, and yesterday at church.”Little Sietske unable to control herself any longer had to laugh outright. Her laughter threatened to become contagious. William was busier than usual with his nose; Hermann had come to life and was eyeing Walter slyly.“Order!” thundered the doctor, giving the table a rap with a ruler that made the globe tremble. Walter was frightened. “Order! This is a nice caper during study-hours.”The clock began to strike. Sietske seemed to be counting, for at every stroke she raised a finger.“I am going to——”“Five!” she cried. “All my fingers—just look, five! Five o’clock, papa—Tyrant! Hurrah, hurrah!”Both boys joined in the uproar. It was a quodlibet from “Gaudeamus igitur,” “Vive la joie,” and “God save the king.” Forward, all!Vive la vacance! A bas les tyrans!Revenge! * * * *The children were determined to have their well earned romp; and they had it. Walter rubbed his eyes, and would not believe his ears. It was beyond his comprehension. * * * *“That will do now,” said the doctor. “Come, mamma is waiting dinner—and you, too, my boy!”William took Sietske on his back and Hermann mounted the father. Thus they descended the stairs, Walter bringing up the rear. Lady Macbeth had disappeared,being now crumpled up in Walter’s breast-pocket.Walter was nonplussed. Was this the same man who used the gold pen?—whose coachman wore the furs?How was it possible? Was it a dream, that he and all the family had looked on this man and simply been overcome by his dignity?He couldn’t understand it.Again the atmosphere of the dining-room was quite different from that of the schoolroom, either before or directly after five.“Present the young gentleman to your mamma,” said the doctor, turning to William.“May I do it?” asked Sietske.Doctor Holsma nodded, and the little girl took Walter by the hand and conducted him to a lady who sat at the head of the table preparing the salad.“Mamma, this is a young gentleman—oh, I must know your name. What is your name?”“Walter Pieterse.”“This is Mr. Walter Pieterse, who has come to thank papa, because he—he was sick; and he—the young gentleman is going to stay for dinner, papa?”—the doctor nodded again—“and he’s going to stay for dinner, mamma.”“With mamma’s consent,” said the father.“Yes, with mamma’s consent.”Mevrouw Holsma spoke to Walter kindly and offered him a chair. It was necessary, too.Everything seemed so princely to Walter that he was glad to be seated. Three-fourths of his little figurewas hidden under the table. That was something gained. He was amazed at almost everything he saw and heard. He folded his hands.“Do you want to say a grace, little man?” asked the doctor.“Yes, M’nheer,” Walter stammered.“A good custom. Do you always do that at the table?”“Yes, always—at warm meals, M’nheer!”Those children had been taught good manners. Nobody smiled.Walter bowed his head for a moment; and the doctor took advantage of the opportunity to give the children a look of warning. They remembered; and, if afterwards Walter discovered that he had cut a singular figure in this household, they were not to blame.“You do well to do it,” said Holsma. “We don’t do it; and perhaps we do well not to.”“Certainly,” said the mother. “Everyone must act according to his own conviction.”This simple statement moved Walter more than any of them could have imagined. He—a conviction! That short sentence of Mevrouw Holsma attributed to him a dignity and importance that was strange to him, and gave him a right he had never thought of before. Through the soup he was thinking continually: “I may have a conviction!”It never occurred to him that a thing could be interpreted otherwise than it was interpreted for him by his mother or Stoffel, or some other grown-up person. The whole question of praying, or not praying, did notappear so important to him as this new fact, that he could have a conviction. His heart swelled.The doctor, who understood Walter, recalled him from his thoughts.“Everyone must act according to his conviction; and in order to come to a conviction one has to reflect a long time over the matter. I am convinced that our little guest would like to eat some of those peas. Pass them to him, Sietske.”Walter had grasped the import of Holsma’s words, and also the meaning of this transition to the peas. Walter felt—without putting his feelings into words—that the pedantry of the schoolroom had been put aside at five o’clock, and that his host merely wanted to give him a friendly warning against dogmatic bigotry, without tainting the fresh, wholesome atmosphere of the dining-room.Despite his shy, retiring nature—or, better, in connection with this characteristic—Walter was an extremely intelligent boy. This fact had escaped almost everybody he had come in contact with because of his lack of self-confidence, which prevented him from revealing his true self. He usually seemed to comprehend more slowly than others; but this was because he was less easily satisfied with the result of his thinking. His mind was exacting of knowledge. During Walter’s sickness Holsma had remarked this peculiarity of the boy, and his interest had been enlisted at once.Walter’s shyness was due in a great measure to the manner in which he had been taught what little he knew. Everything his teachers taught him was lookedupon by them as something immutable and irrefutable. Twice two is four, Prince so-and-so is a hero, good children go to heaven, God is great, the Reform Church represents the true faith, etc., etc. It was never hinted to him that there was any room for doubt. Indeed, he was led to believe that his desire to know more about things was improper and even sinful.After all those extraordinary occurrences in the study, Walter was prepared to expect almost anything in the way of the unusual, but that William and Hermann, and even little Sietske, were allowed to help their plates to whatever they wanted—that was more wonderful to him than the aërial voyage of Elias. With Geneviève in the famous wilderness—yes, even in Africa it couldn’t be any more free and easy. He was continually surprised and taken off his guard by the unwonted and unexpected. In fact, his thoughts were so far away that when during dessert the little girl passed him a saucer of cream——Ye gods, it happened and—I must tell it. Oh, if like the chroniclers of old, I might put the blame on some privy councilor, “who unfortunately advised,” etc.But what privy councilor in the whole world could have advised Walter to let that porcelain spoon tilt over the edge of the saucer and fall into Sietske’s lap! He did it, he!Oh, how sad it was. He had just begun to pull himself up in his chair. Another moment and he would have actually been sitting. Perhaps he might have said something soon. The name of a certain country in Africa, which Sietske could not remember a momentbefore, had occurred to him. It was not that he might seem smarter than Sietske that he was going to speak out. No, it was only that he might seem a little less stupid than himself. But now—that miserable spoon!Before he had time to wonder how his awkwardness would be received, Sietske was talking along smoothly about something else—just as if this little “catastrophe” was a matter of course.“Papa, you were going to tell us something about Olivier van Noort.”She arose, wiped off her little skirt and fetched Walter another spoon from the buffet.“Yes, papa, Olivier van Noort! You promised it, papa.”All urged him to tell the story. Even Mevrouw Holsma manifested great interest in it. Walter was aware that this conversation was intended to cover up his accident. He was moved; for he was not accustomed to anything like this. As Sietske took her seat again she noticed a tear creeping down across his cheek.“Mamma, I got a silver spoon. That’s just as good, isn’t it? These porcelain things are so heavy and awkward. They’ve fallen out of my hand three times; and Hermann can’t manage them, either.”The mother nodded to her.“And how it is with Olivier van Noort?”The door-bell rang, and almost immediately afterwards a gentleman entered the room who was greeted by the children as Uncle Sybrand.The host now invited all to the garden and sent Hermann to the study for a book.“You young rascal, don’t you go now and maliciously break that globe. It can’t help it.”Then came the story of Admiral Olivier van Noort and the poor Vice-Admiral Jan Claesz van Ilpendam, who was put ashore in the Strait of Magellan for insubordination. It interested all, and called forth a lively discussion, in which the entire family as well as the guests took part.

The next day Walter rang the doctor’s door-bell. His heart was in a flutter, for the doctor lived in an imposing house. He was admitted and, after he had been announced, was told just to come upstairs.

The maid conducted Walter to the “study,” where the doctor was busy performing one of his paternal duties: he was teaching his children.

There were three. A boy, somewhat older than Walter, sat alone in one corner writing at a small table. The other two, a boy of Walter’s age and a girl that seemed to be a few years younger, stood before the table behind which the doctor was sitting. On the table stood a large globe, evidently the subject of discussion. This became clear to Walter later, for, as far as he knew, he had never seen such a large ball. He didn’t know that there was any other way to explain the location of countries except by means of maps. Thus he noticed in the room all sorts of things that he didn’t understand till later.

When the maid opened the door of the room he heard the voices of the children, and also that of the father. He even heard laughter; but when he walked in all became as still as death. The two children at the table stood like soldiers. There was something so comical in their attitude that Walter could have laughed at them if he hadn’t been so embarrassed. Even thegirl had a touch of official earnestness in her face more striking than he had seen it in older people, even at church. While the doctor was welcoming Walter and offering him a chair, the boy stood with hands clapped down on the seams of his trousers as if he expected someone to say, “Right about—face!” or, “Forward, column right, march!”

The larger boy in the corner had only looked up once, but with that peculiarly hostile expression which distinguishes man from other animals—to the disadvantage of the former. It is noticeable especially in children—sometimes in women.

“I’m glad to see you, my boy. It was nice of you to come. What have you there?”—then he turned to the little soldiers.

“Remind me afterward to tell you at dinner something about Olivier van Noort. William, you can think of it, can’t you?”

Walter squinted at his Lady Macbeth, and was so embarrassed that he was helpless to present it to the doctor. The room was so magnificent; and the furnishings—the big cases full of books! His picture seemed so common and ugly that, if he could have done so, he would have swallowed it.

At home they had taught him how he must stand and sit and speak; and now he stood there, as awkward as a cow, stammering and stuttering. Making a supreme effort he managed to get it out that he had “come to thank the doctor” for his recovery—“but God first”!

The two soldiers bit their lips; and even the doctor found it difficult to keep a straight face.

“God first! Well said, my boy. Have you already thanked God?”

“Yes, M’nheer, every evening in bed, and yesterday at church.”

Little Sietske unable to control herself any longer had to laugh outright. Her laughter threatened to become contagious. William was busier than usual with his nose; Hermann had come to life and was eyeing Walter slyly.

“Order!” thundered the doctor, giving the table a rap with a ruler that made the globe tremble. Walter was frightened. “Order! This is a nice caper during study-hours.”

The clock began to strike. Sietske seemed to be counting, for at every stroke she raised a finger.

“I am going to——”

“Five!” she cried. “All my fingers—just look, five! Five o’clock, papa—Tyrant! Hurrah, hurrah!”

Both boys joined in the uproar. It was a quodlibet from “Gaudeamus igitur,” “Vive la joie,” and “God save the king.” Forward, all!Vive la vacance! A bas les tyrans!Revenge! * * * *

The children were determined to have their well earned romp; and they had it. Walter rubbed his eyes, and would not believe his ears. It was beyond his comprehension. * * * *

“That will do now,” said the doctor. “Come, mamma is waiting dinner—and you, too, my boy!”

William took Sietske on his back and Hermann mounted the father. Thus they descended the stairs, Walter bringing up the rear. Lady Macbeth had disappeared,being now crumpled up in Walter’s breast-pocket.

Walter was nonplussed. Was this the same man who used the gold pen?—whose coachman wore the furs?

How was it possible? Was it a dream, that he and all the family had looked on this man and simply been overcome by his dignity?

He couldn’t understand it.

Again the atmosphere of the dining-room was quite different from that of the schoolroom, either before or directly after five.

“Present the young gentleman to your mamma,” said the doctor, turning to William.

“May I do it?” asked Sietske.

Doctor Holsma nodded, and the little girl took Walter by the hand and conducted him to a lady who sat at the head of the table preparing the salad.

“Mamma, this is a young gentleman—oh, I must know your name. What is your name?”

“Walter Pieterse.”

“This is Mr. Walter Pieterse, who has come to thank papa, because he—he was sick; and he—the young gentleman is going to stay for dinner, papa?”—the doctor nodded again—“and he’s going to stay for dinner, mamma.”

“With mamma’s consent,” said the father.

“Yes, with mamma’s consent.”

Mevrouw Holsma spoke to Walter kindly and offered him a chair. It was necessary, too.

Everything seemed so princely to Walter that he was glad to be seated. Three-fourths of his little figurewas hidden under the table. That was something gained. He was amazed at almost everything he saw and heard. He folded his hands.

“Do you want to say a grace, little man?” asked the doctor.

“Yes, M’nheer,” Walter stammered.

“A good custom. Do you always do that at the table?”

“Yes, always—at warm meals, M’nheer!”

Those children had been taught good manners. Nobody smiled.

Walter bowed his head for a moment; and the doctor took advantage of the opportunity to give the children a look of warning. They remembered; and, if afterwards Walter discovered that he had cut a singular figure in this household, they were not to blame.

“You do well to do it,” said Holsma. “We don’t do it; and perhaps we do well not to.”

“Certainly,” said the mother. “Everyone must act according to his own conviction.”

This simple statement moved Walter more than any of them could have imagined. He—a conviction! That short sentence of Mevrouw Holsma attributed to him a dignity and importance that was strange to him, and gave him a right he had never thought of before. Through the soup he was thinking continually: “I may have a conviction!”

It never occurred to him that a thing could be interpreted otherwise than it was interpreted for him by his mother or Stoffel, or some other grown-up person. The whole question of praying, or not praying, did notappear so important to him as this new fact, that he could have a conviction. His heart swelled.

The doctor, who understood Walter, recalled him from his thoughts.

“Everyone must act according to his conviction; and in order to come to a conviction one has to reflect a long time over the matter. I am convinced that our little guest would like to eat some of those peas. Pass them to him, Sietske.”

Walter had grasped the import of Holsma’s words, and also the meaning of this transition to the peas. Walter felt—without putting his feelings into words—that the pedantry of the schoolroom had been put aside at five o’clock, and that his host merely wanted to give him a friendly warning against dogmatic bigotry, without tainting the fresh, wholesome atmosphere of the dining-room.

Despite his shy, retiring nature—or, better, in connection with this characteristic—Walter was an extremely intelligent boy. This fact had escaped almost everybody he had come in contact with because of his lack of self-confidence, which prevented him from revealing his true self. He usually seemed to comprehend more slowly than others; but this was because he was less easily satisfied with the result of his thinking. His mind was exacting of knowledge. During Walter’s sickness Holsma had remarked this peculiarity of the boy, and his interest had been enlisted at once.

Walter’s shyness was due in a great measure to the manner in which he had been taught what little he knew. Everything his teachers taught him was lookedupon by them as something immutable and irrefutable. Twice two is four, Prince so-and-so is a hero, good children go to heaven, God is great, the Reform Church represents the true faith, etc., etc. It was never hinted to him that there was any room for doubt. Indeed, he was led to believe that his desire to know more about things was improper and even sinful.

After all those extraordinary occurrences in the study, Walter was prepared to expect almost anything in the way of the unusual, but that William and Hermann, and even little Sietske, were allowed to help their plates to whatever they wanted—that was more wonderful to him than the aërial voyage of Elias. With Geneviève in the famous wilderness—yes, even in Africa it couldn’t be any more free and easy. He was continually surprised and taken off his guard by the unwonted and unexpected. In fact, his thoughts were so far away that when during dessert the little girl passed him a saucer of cream——

Ye gods, it happened and—I must tell it. Oh, if like the chroniclers of old, I might put the blame on some privy councilor, “who unfortunately advised,” etc.

But what privy councilor in the whole world could have advised Walter to let that porcelain spoon tilt over the edge of the saucer and fall into Sietske’s lap! He did it, he!

Oh, how sad it was. He had just begun to pull himself up in his chair. Another moment and he would have actually been sitting. Perhaps he might have said something soon. The name of a certain country in Africa, which Sietske could not remember a momentbefore, had occurred to him. It was not that he might seem smarter than Sietske that he was going to speak out. No, it was only that he might seem a little less stupid than himself. But now—that miserable spoon!

Before he had time to wonder how his awkwardness would be received, Sietske was talking along smoothly about something else—just as if this little “catastrophe” was a matter of course.

“Papa, you were going to tell us something about Olivier van Noort.”

She arose, wiped off her little skirt and fetched Walter another spoon from the buffet.

“Yes, papa, Olivier van Noort! You promised it, papa.”

All urged him to tell the story. Even Mevrouw Holsma manifested great interest in it. Walter was aware that this conversation was intended to cover up his accident. He was moved; for he was not accustomed to anything like this. As Sietske took her seat again she noticed a tear creeping down across his cheek.

“Mamma, I got a silver spoon. That’s just as good, isn’t it? These porcelain things are so heavy and awkward. They’ve fallen out of my hand three times; and Hermann can’t manage them, either.”

The mother nodded to her.

“And how it is with Olivier van Noort?”

The door-bell rang, and almost immediately afterwards a gentleman entered the room who was greeted by the children as Uncle Sybrand.

The host now invited all to the garden and sent Hermann to the study for a book.

“You young rascal, don’t you go now and maliciously break that globe. It can’t help it.”

Then came the story of Admiral Olivier van Noort and the poor Vice-Admiral Jan Claesz van Ilpendam, who was put ashore in the Strait of Magellan for insubordination. It interested all, and called forth a lively discussion, in which the entire family as well as the guests took part.

Chapter XXITo readers of a certain class of fiction it will no doubt seem strange if I say that Walter’s visit to the Holsma family influenced greatly his spiritual development. Not immediately; but a seed had been planted which was to grow later. He saw now that after all independent thought was possible, even if he could not yet allow himself that luxury. The mere knowledge that there were other opinions in the world than those of his daily mentors was a long stride forward.He was depressed on account of his lack of knowledge. Those children knew so much more than he did; and this made him sad.They had spoken of someone who was startled to find footprints. Who was it? The child had never heard of Defoe’s hermit. He asked Stoffel.“Footprints? Footprints? Well, you must tell me what footprints you mean—whose footprints. You must give names when you ask questions.”“That’s right,” said the mother, “when you want to know anything you must mention names. And Mevrouw made the salad herself? Well, that’s strange. The girl must have been out somewhere.”As to other “strange” things, which were not likely to meet the approbation of his family, Walter was silent. Not a word about that Saturnalia, or the omission of grace at a “warm meal”! Nor did he mention theliberties that were allowed the children, or the freedom with which they joined in the conversation. Perhaps it was a superfluous precaution. That bearskin would have been excused for many shortcomings.Juffrouw Pieterse asked repeatedly if he had been “respectable.” Walter said he had, but without knowing exactly what she meant. That affair with the spoon—had it been respectable? He didn’t care to have this question decided—at least by his mother. But it was nice of Sietske; and wouldn’t he have done the same?He learned that the day was approaching when he must return to school. More than ever he felt that this source of knowledge was insufficient for him; but opposition was not to be thought of. He was dissatisfied with himself, with everything.“I shall never amount to anything,” he sighed.His Lady Macbeth seemed uglier to him than ever. He tore her up. And Ophelia?Goodness! He hadn’t thought of Femke the whole day. Was it because she was only a wash-girl, while the doctor’s children were so aristocratic? Walter censured himself.He took advantage of the first opportunity to pay his debt in that quarter. For he felt that it was a debt; and this consciousness gave him courage. Picture in hand, he passed the familiar fence this time and knocked boldly on the door. His heart was thumping terribly; but he must do it! In a moment he stood before Femke. The lady of his heart was quietly darning stockings. It is hard on the writer; but this little detail was a matter of indifference to Walter.“Oh!” she cried, extending her hand. “Mother, this is the young gentleman we saw that time—the little boy who was so sick. And how are you now? You look pale.”“Take a seat, little boy,” said the mother. “Yes, you do look pale. Worms, of course.”“No, no, mother. The child has had nervous fever.”“All right—fever, then; but it could be from worms. Give him a cup, Femke. It won’t hurt you to drink coffee; but if it were worms——”Mrs. Claus’s worms were more in Walter’s way than the stockings.“Where does your mother have her washing done?” she asked. “Not that I want to pump you—not at all. But if she isn’t satisfied with her wash-woman—it sometimes happens, you understand. Everybody must look out for himself; and I just thought I’d mention it. Whenever there are any ink-spots Femke takes them out with oxalic acid; and it never makes any holes—yes, it did happen once, and we had to pay for a pair of cuffs. You can ask Femke.”The fact was, he wanted to ask Femke something else; and she knew it. The story of Aztalpa had left its marks on her mind. But she was hampered very much like Walter was at home. She couldn’t say, “Mother, speak a bit more Peruvian!” So she simply asked what the roll was that he had in his hand.Walter was confused, but he managed to stammer that it was a present for her. Femke said she would always take good care of the picture.“Yes,” said the mother, “and you must iron outthose creases. We iron, too, little boy, and we deliver the clothes ready to put on. Nobody can complain. You can tell your mother. And your collar—it isn’t ironed nicely—and such bluing! Ask Femke. Femke, isn’t the blue in stripes?”His collar not ironed nicely? and blued in stripes? And the infallible Pietro had laundered it! Even here, were there differences in method and conception? And in this respect, too, was the Pieterse tradition not the only one that brought happiness?Femke was on nettles. She studied Ophelia, wondering who she was, and tried to turn the conversation. At last something occurred to her. It was necessary for her to run some errand or other, and “the young gentleman” could “accompany” her a part of the way.“As far as I’m concerned,” said the mother.The young couple retired, taking one of those ways which in the neighborhood of Amsterdam are simply called “the ways.” That is all they are. Whoever walks there for pleasure must take a good stock of impressions with him, in order to escape tedium.But Walter and Femke were not lacking in this respect. Walter had so much to tell Femke that he could scarcely hope to get through; and she, too, had thought of him more than she was willing to admit, and more than he had any idea of. She began by saying that she hadn’t told her mother of her unfriendly reception by Walter’s mother and sisters, because she didn’t want her mother——“Oh, Femke—and you thought I would come?”“Yes.” said Femke, hesitating, but still with areadiness that delighted Walter. “Yes, of course I expected to see you again. And I had a mass said for your recovery.”“Really?” said Walter, who hardly knew what it meant. “You did that for me?”“Yes, and I prayed, too. I should have been sad if you had died. For I believe you are a good boy.”“I ought to have come sooner; and I wanted to, but—Femke, I was afraid.”He related to her how he had been near her on Sunday. The girl attributed his timidity to his diffidence toward her mother.“My mother is a good woman. She wouldn’t hurt anybody, but—you understand. She doesn’t mix with people much. I understand the world better, because, you see, I was a nurse for three weeks. I was only substituting; I was too young to be a real nurse. It was at a relation’s of ours, where the girl was sick. You know we really come of a good family. But that makes no difference. Tell me, are you well and strong again?”Walter told her now all about his sickness, and soon he came involuntarily to the thing that gave him most trouble, his defective knowledge.“All the children know French; but at our school it isn’t taught. It’s impossible to be a great man without knowing French.”Walter had difficulty in explaining to her that he meant something other than the possession of three houses, though that might not be bad.“I should like—you understand? I should like—yes—I should like—how shall I explain?”The sovereignty of Africa was on the end of his tongue; but he didn’t have the courage to put his dreams into words.“You know, Femke, that we live here in Europe. Now, down there in the south, far away—I will draw it for you. We can sit down here and I will show you exactly what I mean.”He selected some small sticks suitable for making outlines on the ground, then he and Femke sat down on a low pile of boards. He proceeded to scratch up the sand for some distance around.“That is Europe. The earth is round; that is, it consists of two halves, like a doughnut. You see, it looks like a pair of spectacles. With that half we are not concerned. That’s America. You can put your feet on it if you want to. Here is where we live; there is England; and here is Africa. The people there are uncivilized. They can’t read, and they don’t wear many clothes. But when a traveler comes along they are very nice to him—the book says so. I’m going down there and teach all the people to read and give them clothes and see to it that there is no injustice done in the whole land. And then we will——”“I, too?” asked Femke in amazement.“Why, certainly! I wanted to ask you if you were willing to go with me. We will be man and wife, you understand; so when I get to be king you will be——”“I? Queen?”She laughed. Involuntarily she rose and trampled to pieces all the kingdoms that Walter had just laid at her feet.“But—won’t you be my wife?”“Oh, you boy! How did you get such nonsense into your head? You are still a child!”“Will you wait then till I’m grown up? Will you let me be your friend?”“Certainly! Only you mustn’t think of that nonsense—not that you may not go to Africa later. Why not? Many people go on journeys. Formerly there lived a carpenter near us, and he went to the Haarlem with his whole family. But—marrying!”She laughed again. It pained Walter. The poor boy’s first proposal was turning out badly.Suddenly Femke became serious.“I know that you are a good boy; and I think a great deal of you.”“And I!” cried Walter. “Femke, I have thought of you all the time—when I was sick—in my fever—I don’t know what I thought of in my fever, but I think it must have been you. And I talked to the picture I painted for you as if it were you; and that picture answered like you and looked like you. I was Kusco and Telasco, and you were Aztalpa, the daughter of the sun. Tell me, Femke, may I be your friend?”The girl reflected a moment; and in her pure, innocent heart she felt the desire to do good. Was that seventeen-year-old girl conscious of the influence that Walter’s childish soul exerted upon her? Scarcely. But she wanted to give him a less cruel answer.“Certainly, certainly you shall be my friend. But—but——”She was hunting for some excuse that would not hurt him, and still let him see the difference in their ages. He had grown during his illness, to be sure,but still—she could have carried him on her arm. And he had dreamed of rescuing her from a fire!“My friend, yes. But then you must do everything that I require.”“Everything, everything! Tell me quick what I can do for you.”It was painful for the girl. She didn’t know what she should require; but she was under the necessity of naming something. She had always heard that it was good for children to study hard. What if she should spur him on to do that?“Listen, Walter. Just for fun I told my mother that you were the best in school.”“I?” cried Walter abashed.“Study hard and be the first in school inside the next three months,” said Femke to the conqueror of continents, unaware of the sarcasm that lay in her words. “Otherwise, you see, my mother might think I had made fun of you; and I don’t want that to happen. If you will only do that——”“I will do it, Femke!”“Then you must go home and begin at once.”Thus she sent him away. As she told him “Good-bye” she noticed all at once that he was too large for her to kiss. A few hours later, when Father Jansen was calling on her mother and incidentally saw Walter’s painting, Walter suddenly became a child again. The priest had said that in Dutch Ophelia meant Flora, who was the patron-saint of roses and forget-me-nots.“Oh, that picture is from a little boy, a very small boy. He’s about ten years old—or nine. He’s certainly not older than nine!”“Girl, you are foolish!” cried the mother. “The boy is fifteen.”“Yes, that may be—but I just meant that he’s still only a child.”She stuck Ophelia away in some hidden nook, and Mrs. Claus and Father Jansen never saw that new edition of the old flower-goddess again.“Femke, I will do it!” Walter had said.There was really reason to believe that he would learn faster now; but Pennewip’s instruction would wear Femke’s colors. Walter knew very well that in requiring this service she had had his own welfare in view; but this showed her interest in him, and was not so bad. How would it have looked, he thought, if, after all that had gone before, he had answered: “Everything except that!”Of course he would have greatly preferred to serve his lady on some journey full of adventure. But one cannot select for one’s self heroic deeds. In these days Hercules and St. George would have to put up withminiaturedragons.At all events, Walter took hold of his work in earnest. He studied his “Ippel,” his “Strabbe,” his “National History” and even the “Gender of Nouns,” and everything else necessary to the education of a good Netherlander. Poetry was included; and Walter’s accomplishments along this line were such that other “Herculeses” might have envied him.He had never read the stories of tournaments. No enchantress gave him a charmed coat of mail; no Minerva put the head of Medusa on his shield—no,nothing of all that. But—Keesje, the butcher’s boy, might look sharp for his laurels!In justice to Walter it must be said that he gave his opponent fair warning, in true knightly style.At the end of three months Walter was actually the first in his classes. Pennewip was compelled to take notice of it.“It is strange,” he remarked. “I might say that it is remarkable. Yes, in a way, it is unprecedented—without a parallel!”At home the result was that a great council was held regarding Walter’s future. He didn’t want to become a compositor; and to be a sailor—that would have suited him, but his mother was opposed to it. Stoffel, too, objected on the ground that usually only young people who are worthless on land are sent to sea.Thus Walter’s plans for conquest were slipping away from him. He was not attracted by the brilliant careers that were proposed: They left Africa out of account. He didn’t want to be a school-teacher, or a shoemaker, or a clerk, or a counter-jumper.However, after all authorities had been heard, Stoffel came to the conclusion that Walter was peculiarly well fitted for “business.” Juffrouw Pieterse agreed with him thoroughly.

To readers of a certain class of fiction it will no doubt seem strange if I say that Walter’s visit to the Holsma family influenced greatly his spiritual development. Not immediately; but a seed had been planted which was to grow later. He saw now that after all independent thought was possible, even if he could not yet allow himself that luxury. The mere knowledge that there were other opinions in the world than those of his daily mentors was a long stride forward.

He was depressed on account of his lack of knowledge. Those children knew so much more than he did; and this made him sad.

They had spoken of someone who was startled to find footprints. Who was it? The child had never heard of Defoe’s hermit. He asked Stoffel.

“Footprints? Footprints? Well, you must tell me what footprints you mean—whose footprints. You must give names when you ask questions.”

“That’s right,” said the mother, “when you want to know anything you must mention names. And Mevrouw made the salad herself? Well, that’s strange. The girl must have been out somewhere.”

As to other “strange” things, which were not likely to meet the approbation of his family, Walter was silent. Not a word about that Saturnalia, or the omission of grace at a “warm meal”! Nor did he mention theliberties that were allowed the children, or the freedom with which they joined in the conversation. Perhaps it was a superfluous precaution. That bearskin would have been excused for many shortcomings.

Juffrouw Pieterse asked repeatedly if he had been “respectable.” Walter said he had, but without knowing exactly what she meant. That affair with the spoon—had it been respectable? He didn’t care to have this question decided—at least by his mother. But it was nice of Sietske; and wouldn’t he have done the same?

He learned that the day was approaching when he must return to school. More than ever he felt that this source of knowledge was insufficient for him; but opposition was not to be thought of. He was dissatisfied with himself, with everything.

“I shall never amount to anything,” he sighed.

His Lady Macbeth seemed uglier to him than ever. He tore her up. And Ophelia?

Goodness! He hadn’t thought of Femke the whole day. Was it because she was only a wash-girl, while the doctor’s children were so aristocratic? Walter censured himself.

He took advantage of the first opportunity to pay his debt in that quarter. For he felt that it was a debt; and this consciousness gave him courage. Picture in hand, he passed the familiar fence this time and knocked boldly on the door. His heart was thumping terribly; but he must do it! In a moment he stood before Femke. The lady of his heart was quietly darning stockings. It is hard on the writer; but this little detail was a matter of indifference to Walter.

“Oh!” she cried, extending her hand. “Mother, this is the young gentleman we saw that time—the little boy who was so sick. And how are you now? You look pale.”

“Take a seat, little boy,” said the mother. “Yes, you do look pale. Worms, of course.”

“No, no, mother. The child has had nervous fever.”

“All right—fever, then; but it could be from worms. Give him a cup, Femke. It won’t hurt you to drink coffee; but if it were worms——”

Mrs. Claus’s worms were more in Walter’s way than the stockings.

“Where does your mother have her washing done?” she asked. “Not that I want to pump you—not at all. But if she isn’t satisfied with her wash-woman—it sometimes happens, you understand. Everybody must look out for himself; and I just thought I’d mention it. Whenever there are any ink-spots Femke takes them out with oxalic acid; and it never makes any holes—yes, it did happen once, and we had to pay for a pair of cuffs. You can ask Femke.”

The fact was, he wanted to ask Femke something else; and she knew it. The story of Aztalpa had left its marks on her mind. But she was hampered very much like Walter was at home. She couldn’t say, “Mother, speak a bit more Peruvian!” So she simply asked what the roll was that he had in his hand.

Walter was confused, but he managed to stammer that it was a present for her. Femke said she would always take good care of the picture.

“Yes,” said the mother, “and you must iron outthose creases. We iron, too, little boy, and we deliver the clothes ready to put on. Nobody can complain. You can tell your mother. And your collar—it isn’t ironed nicely—and such bluing! Ask Femke. Femke, isn’t the blue in stripes?”

His collar not ironed nicely? and blued in stripes? And the infallible Pietro had laundered it! Even here, were there differences in method and conception? And in this respect, too, was the Pieterse tradition not the only one that brought happiness?

Femke was on nettles. She studied Ophelia, wondering who she was, and tried to turn the conversation. At last something occurred to her. It was necessary for her to run some errand or other, and “the young gentleman” could “accompany” her a part of the way.

“As far as I’m concerned,” said the mother.

The young couple retired, taking one of those ways which in the neighborhood of Amsterdam are simply called “the ways.” That is all they are. Whoever walks there for pleasure must take a good stock of impressions with him, in order to escape tedium.

But Walter and Femke were not lacking in this respect. Walter had so much to tell Femke that he could scarcely hope to get through; and she, too, had thought of him more than she was willing to admit, and more than he had any idea of. She began by saying that she hadn’t told her mother of her unfriendly reception by Walter’s mother and sisters, because she didn’t want her mother——

“Oh, Femke—and you thought I would come?”

“Yes.” said Femke, hesitating, but still with areadiness that delighted Walter. “Yes, of course I expected to see you again. And I had a mass said for your recovery.”

“Really?” said Walter, who hardly knew what it meant. “You did that for me?”

“Yes, and I prayed, too. I should have been sad if you had died. For I believe you are a good boy.”

“I ought to have come sooner; and I wanted to, but—Femke, I was afraid.”

He related to her how he had been near her on Sunday. The girl attributed his timidity to his diffidence toward her mother.

“My mother is a good woman. She wouldn’t hurt anybody, but—you understand. She doesn’t mix with people much. I understand the world better, because, you see, I was a nurse for three weeks. I was only substituting; I was too young to be a real nurse. It was at a relation’s of ours, where the girl was sick. You know we really come of a good family. But that makes no difference. Tell me, are you well and strong again?”

Walter told her now all about his sickness, and soon he came involuntarily to the thing that gave him most trouble, his defective knowledge.

“All the children know French; but at our school it isn’t taught. It’s impossible to be a great man without knowing French.”

Walter had difficulty in explaining to her that he meant something other than the possession of three houses, though that might not be bad.

“I should like—you understand? I should like—yes—I should like—how shall I explain?”

The sovereignty of Africa was on the end of his tongue; but he didn’t have the courage to put his dreams into words.

“You know, Femke, that we live here in Europe. Now, down there in the south, far away—I will draw it for you. We can sit down here and I will show you exactly what I mean.”

He selected some small sticks suitable for making outlines on the ground, then he and Femke sat down on a low pile of boards. He proceeded to scratch up the sand for some distance around.

“That is Europe. The earth is round; that is, it consists of two halves, like a doughnut. You see, it looks like a pair of spectacles. With that half we are not concerned. That’s America. You can put your feet on it if you want to. Here is where we live; there is England; and here is Africa. The people there are uncivilized. They can’t read, and they don’t wear many clothes. But when a traveler comes along they are very nice to him—the book says so. I’m going down there and teach all the people to read and give them clothes and see to it that there is no injustice done in the whole land. And then we will——”

“I, too?” asked Femke in amazement.

“Why, certainly! I wanted to ask you if you were willing to go with me. We will be man and wife, you understand; so when I get to be king you will be——”

“I? Queen?”

She laughed. Involuntarily she rose and trampled to pieces all the kingdoms that Walter had just laid at her feet.

“But—won’t you be my wife?”

“Oh, you boy! How did you get such nonsense into your head? You are still a child!”

“Will you wait then till I’m grown up? Will you let me be your friend?”

“Certainly! Only you mustn’t think of that nonsense—not that you may not go to Africa later. Why not? Many people go on journeys. Formerly there lived a carpenter near us, and he went to the Haarlem with his whole family. But—marrying!”

She laughed again. It pained Walter. The poor boy’s first proposal was turning out badly.

Suddenly Femke became serious.

“I know that you are a good boy; and I think a great deal of you.”

“And I!” cried Walter. “Femke, I have thought of you all the time—when I was sick—in my fever—I don’t know what I thought of in my fever, but I think it must have been you. And I talked to the picture I painted for you as if it were you; and that picture answered like you and looked like you. I was Kusco and Telasco, and you were Aztalpa, the daughter of the sun. Tell me, Femke, may I be your friend?”

The girl reflected a moment; and in her pure, innocent heart she felt the desire to do good. Was that seventeen-year-old girl conscious of the influence that Walter’s childish soul exerted upon her? Scarcely. But she wanted to give him a less cruel answer.

“Certainly, certainly you shall be my friend. But—but——”

She was hunting for some excuse that would not hurt him, and still let him see the difference in their ages. He had grown during his illness, to be sure,but still—she could have carried him on her arm. And he had dreamed of rescuing her from a fire!

“My friend, yes. But then you must do everything that I require.”

“Everything, everything! Tell me quick what I can do for you.”

It was painful for the girl. She didn’t know what she should require; but she was under the necessity of naming something. She had always heard that it was good for children to study hard. What if she should spur him on to do that?

“Listen, Walter. Just for fun I told my mother that you were the best in school.”

“I?” cried Walter abashed.

“Study hard and be the first in school inside the next three months,” said Femke to the conqueror of continents, unaware of the sarcasm that lay in her words. “Otherwise, you see, my mother might think I had made fun of you; and I don’t want that to happen. If you will only do that——”

“I will do it, Femke!”

“Then you must go home and begin at once.”

Thus she sent him away. As she told him “Good-bye” she noticed all at once that he was too large for her to kiss. A few hours later, when Father Jansen was calling on her mother and incidentally saw Walter’s painting, Walter suddenly became a child again. The priest had said that in Dutch Ophelia meant Flora, who was the patron-saint of roses and forget-me-nots.

“Oh, that picture is from a little boy, a very small boy. He’s about ten years old—or nine. He’s certainly not older than nine!”

“Girl, you are foolish!” cried the mother. “The boy is fifteen.”

“Yes, that may be—but I just meant that he’s still only a child.”

She stuck Ophelia away in some hidden nook, and Mrs. Claus and Father Jansen never saw that new edition of the old flower-goddess again.

“Femke, I will do it!” Walter had said.

There was really reason to believe that he would learn faster now; but Pennewip’s instruction would wear Femke’s colors. Walter knew very well that in requiring this service she had had his own welfare in view; but this showed her interest in him, and was not so bad. How would it have looked, he thought, if, after all that had gone before, he had answered: “Everything except that!”

Of course he would have greatly preferred to serve his lady on some journey full of adventure. But one cannot select for one’s self heroic deeds. In these days Hercules and St. George would have to put up withminiaturedragons.

At all events, Walter took hold of his work in earnest. He studied his “Ippel,” his “Strabbe,” his “National History” and even the “Gender of Nouns,” and everything else necessary to the education of a good Netherlander. Poetry was included; and Walter’s accomplishments along this line were such that other “Herculeses” might have envied him.

He had never read the stories of tournaments. No enchantress gave him a charmed coat of mail; no Minerva put the head of Medusa on his shield—no,nothing of all that. But—Keesje, the butcher’s boy, might look sharp for his laurels!

In justice to Walter it must be said that he gave his opponent fair warning, in true knightly style.

At the end of three months Walter was actually the first in his classes. Pennewip was compelled to take notice of it.

“It is strange,” he remarked. “I might say that it is remarkable. Yes, in a way, it is unprecedented—without a parallel!”

At home the result was that a great council was held regarding Walter’s future. He didn’t want to become a compositor; and to be a sailor—that would have suited him, but his mother was opposed to it. Stoffel, too, objected on the ground that usually only young people who are worthless on land are sent to sea.

Thus Walter’s plans for conquest were slipping away from him. He was not attracted by the brilliant careers that were proposed: They left Africa out of account. He didn’t want to be a school-teacher, or a shoemaker, or a clerk, or a counter-jumper.

However, after all authorities had been heard, Stoffel came to the conclusion that Walter was peculiarly well fitted for “business.” Juffrouw Pieterse agreed with him thoroughly.

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