Walter Pieterse Part 32

"You don't know? It's arrogance!"

She spoke the truth.

"Arrogance, Arrogance pure and simple--just as it was in Belshazzar, or Sennacherib, or Nebuchadnezzar."

How thankful Walter was! If at this moment he had had a letter to write--preferably to Femke--he would have boasted of being as wicked as three old kings put together.

"Arrogance!" repeated Juffrouw Laps. "Gold on top, iron in the middle, and feet of clay. The Master will overthrow him. Send him to me."

This invitation to turn over the royal villain to her for religious instruction was repeated so often that it was necessary to give her an answer.

"But, dear Juffrouw, the boy don't want to. He's stubborn; and what can one do with such a child?"

Walter knew that his mother was not quite truthful; but, after his former experience with his friendly enemy, he found it desirable to keep quiet. When pressed, however, for an explanation he said:

"The man wanted snuff, and n.o.body would give him any; so I----"

Juffrouw Laps knew enough. Walter was as good as her prisoner: she now knew exactly how to take his fortifications, if they could be taken at all.

"If he doesn't want to come to me, don't compel him," she said sweetly on leaving. "To force him won't do any good. Let him exercise his own pleasure. I'm afraid you pick at the child too much, anyway. What an awful fuss we've made over a stiver!"

"That's what I say, too," replied the mother. "It looks as if we begrudged him the money! We could have spared another stiver, and we wouldn't have missed it, would we, Stoffel?"

"Yes, mother, but it's time for Walter----"

"Goodness, what a hullaballoo to raise about a few pinches of snuff! The Master will repay it seven times seventy times. Whatever ye have done to the least of my brothers----"

With this consoling pa.s.sage on her lips she took her leave of the astonished family.

Yes, it wasn't so easy to see through Juffrouw Laps!

CHAPTER XXIV

In his efforts to reconcile the various conflicting authorities contesting for supremacy in his soul, Walter threw himself into a severe spell of blues. He was not conscious of the contrast between the world of his high-flown fancy and the earthy environment of his home-life. The sympathetic care which he should have received after his illness had not fallen to his lot.

He felt dejected.

"Femke!" he thought; and he longed for her fresh healthy face, for her pure, unselfish glance, for her friendly smile. The Fancy that had led him away to the stars in search of his misty sister had got lodged on that girl of the Amsterdam lowlands, Femke--with her unpoetical length, breadth, thickness, and weight.

"I am going to see her," he cried. "I will! And if Mrs. Claus asks me about worms a dozen times, it's all the same to me; I am going to see her!"

Walter reached the house and knocked. "Come in!" someone called. This was a little sudden, for it took some time to get hold of the latch. But Walter did it. Perhaps he was thinking of Missolonghi.

The Turks that he saw now were not revolting in appearance. They were unarmed and did not murder a single baby.

But--Femke was not in the party.

Mrs. Claus was at the wash-tub, while Father Jansen was quietly smoking.

"Is that you, young man? Very nice! That's the young man who gave Femke the picture, you remember, father?"

The father nodded to him kindly and smoked away, without manifesting any special G.o.dliness.

"Yes, Juffrouw, I wanted to----"

"Very nice of you! Won't you have a slice of bread and b.u.t.ter? And how is your mother? Is she better now? She was sick, wasn't she? That's a good boy, father. Femke said so. Is your mother better again? It was fever, wasn't it? or apoplexy--or what was it then?"

"Oh, no! Juffrouw."

"You mustn't call me Juffrouw. I am only a wash-woman. Everyone must stay in his own cla.s.s, mustn't he, father? Well, it's all the better; I thought she had been sick. It must have been somebody else. One has so much to think of. Do you like cheese?"

The good woman prepared a slice of bread and b.u.t.ter, with cheese. If Trudie could have seen it, she would have fainted. In the "citizen's cla.s.s," such and such a sub-cla.s.s, according to Pennewip, is found a certain scantiness that does not obtain in the common laboring cla.s.s. In the matter of eating, laborers, who do not invest their money in Geneva, are not troubled so much by "good form" as people who give their children French names.

Walter had never seen such a slice of bread. He didn't know whether he ought to bite through the width, or the thickness. The bit of cheese gave him his cue.

He liked Mrs. Claus much better this time. And Father Jansen, too; even if he wasn't like Walter had imagined him to be.

He had never conceived a preacher as being anything else but a very supernatural and spiritual and celestial sort of person. Father Jansen didn't seem to be that kind of a man at all.

He visited the sheep of his fold, especially the plain people, not to make a display of beneficence--for he had nothing, but because he was happiest among simple people. He was fond of bread and b.u.t.ter of the Mrs. Claus variety. For the rest, he said ma.s.s, preached about sin, catechised, confirmed, absolved, and did whatever needed to be done. He performed the functions of his office, and did not think it at all strange that he should have gone into the church, while his brother in Nordbrabant succeeded to the business of his father, who was a farrier and inn-keeper.

"And what are you going to be?" he asked Walter; "for everybody in the world must be something. Wouldn't you like to be a bookbinder? That's a good trade."

"I was--I was in business, M'neer; and I'm going back to business."

"That's good, my boy. You may get rich. Especially here in Amsterdam; for Amsterdam is a commercial city."

Walter wanted to add: "The greatest commercial city of Europe." But he was abashed by the--worldliness of Father Jansen's talk. He didn't find it disagreeable: he was merely surprised at it.

"A boy like you ought to eat a lot. You look pale. My brother can bend a horseshoe. What do you say to that? Have you ever eaten our Brabant bread? Ham isn't bad, either. A person that doesn't eat enough gets weak. I always eat two slices of bread and b.u.t.ter whenever I'm here at Mrs. Claus's; but I'm not nearly so strong as my brother. You ought to see the Vucht fair. That's a great time."

Walter was more than surprised to hear such talk from a preacher: he was almost pleased. He had never received such charming messages from heaven. Of course they came from heaven, those friendly words uttered in Brabant dialect between the puffs of Father Jansen's pipe. This man in a priest's coat chattered away as if there were no such thing in the world as G.o.d, Grace, and h.e.l.l--especially the latter. He was as happy as a child in telling about the strength of his brother, the horsesh.o.e.r. It was his business to lead the world to eternal happiness; and he liked thick slices of bread and b.u.t.ter with cheese.

Walter had never had religious things opened up to him so delightfully. He felt encouraged to speak:

"M'neer, I would like to know who G.o.d is!"

Father Jansen started, and looked at Walter as if he hadn't clearly understood the question.

"Yes--that's very praiseworthy in you. You must----"

"But, father," cried Mrs. Claus, "the child isn't in the church! Are you?"--to Walter.

"Yes, Juffrouw, I have been confirmed."