Walter Pieterse Part 45

The answer was:

"Cousin, I don't suppose his mother knows about it. Hermann did the same thing once. That's the way boys are."

Oho! Sietske was there; and Mrs. Claus was her cousin, and her name was Sietske too! And that girl--there in Mrs. Goremest's place?

His thoughts became more and more confused; though physically he felt well.

How would it do, he thought, to tear a little piece out of the sheet, so as to be able to examine it to-morrow and make certain of himself and his adventures?

If he had been accustomed to fine bedlinen at home, he might now have taken an especial pleasure in Mrs. Claus's extremely rough homemade linen. Hm! He had always dreamed of princesses sleeping on embroidered silk, among diamonds and pearls! He did not yet know that it is possible to conceive royal and imperial highnesses otherwise at night, and that perhaps a princess might sometimes be willing to tousle Femke's bed.

He looked about the room. There was another small bed, where, he supposed, Femke's mother slept. Across the room was the chimney. Here were small shelves decorated with works of art. Walter noticed the "resurrection of Lazarus." Four chairs were in the room. One was standing by his bed, and on it his clothes were carefully arranged.

In the middle of the room stood a table; and the drawer was partly open. It was too full. Father Jansen's woolen socks were peeping out while they waited for repairs. Walter wondered if those other objectionable articles were there too.

On the wall, at the head of his bed, hung a crucifix, with a small basin of holy water. With that she crosses herself, he thought. He stuck his hand into it: it was dry. The whole arrangement was fastened to an embroidered piece of cardboard, and, when he touched it, something fell from behind it.

It looked like a large-sized letter. Walter picked it up and looked for the address. He felt that it must be a letter from Femke to him. Then he reproached himself, and, trembling with emotion, restored the piece of paper to its place. He had held it up to the light: it was the Ophelia that he had presented her after his illness! She had treasured the picture together with the most sacred thing she possessed.

He was wide awake now; but who wouldn't wake up on receiving a letter from Heaven?

He dressed himself and went into the other room, where he supposed Mrs. Claus and Sietske were. Not a soul was to be seen. For the first time it occurred to him that after those few words he had heard nothing more. The girl had surely visited her "cousin" and then gone away.

But Mrs. Claus herself? Perhaps she, too, had gone away. This was the case; however, she had not gone out without leaving behind her a peculiar sign of her uncouth character and lack of refinement. On a small table, before which stood an inviting chair, lay two pieces of bread and b.u.t.ter of her standard make. Beside them was a pot of coffee. To be sure, it was cold now; but--well, Walter acted quickly "according to his convictions."

Other thoughts now forced themselves on his mind. The "House of Pieterse" appeared to his mind's eye as a menacing waterspout. In the face of this danger difficult questions that had been clamoring for answer had to be forgotten.

To go home? For heaven's sake, no!

His mother, Stoffel, his sisters--all had turned into Macbethan witches. In his imagination, even Leentje had deserted him and was asking him to beg forgiveness for his shameful behavior. He thought of the prodigal son; though he knew that no calf, fat or otherwise, would be slaughtered on his return.

Sakkerloot! I haven't done anything wrong; I haven't squandered anything--not a doit of my inheritance! Have I allowed the wine to run out? Not a drop!

But something must have been the matter; for--he did not dare to go home.

Have I had any pleasure? Have I enjoyed any feast with four young ladies? No! Have I allowed hounds to run around loose in the banquet-hall? Have I had any negro servant to hold my horse?

There he took his stand. And he stayed there. Of camels and girls and wine he felt that he was innocent; but himself, and his adventures of the night, he was unable further to explain.

"I wish I were a crumb of bread," he sighed, as he stuck one into his mouth, "then I would know where I belong."

Doubtless the first crumb of bread that was ever envied by a ruler.

Go to America?

Yes, if he only had those hundred florins that Mr. Motto had relieved him of. Of course that worthy gentleman was now living like a prince on the money. At least, Juffrouw Pieterse had said as much. But, even if he had the money, he could not go away and leave Mrs. Claus's house to the mercy of stray thieves and robbers. In a way, hadn't he on yesterday evening taken the field against robbers?

Besides, he had no cap. There was nothing in sight that looked like a hat. Yes--there hung a North Holland cap!

Femke? America?

CHAPTER x.x.x

While Walter was looking at Femke's cap and revolving other plans of escape, the door opened and Kaatje, the girl from Holsma's, walked in. Not recognizing her, Walter did not understand her when she said that Femke had sent her to ask how he was. He looked at the messenger searchingly; then he asked:

"Are you trying to make a fool of me?"

He had puzzled over recent events till everything seemed ghostly and unreal; and he was angry.

"My dear sir, Femke sent me."

"What Femke? Somebody's grandmother again." He took a step forward; and his att.i.tude was threatening.

"Are you that giant Miller's sweetheart?" taking another step forward, while Kaatje fell back.

"Young man!"

Kaatje was already outside of the door, Walter close after her with his fists doubled up.

"Young man, what's the matter with you?"

"What's the matter with me? I'm tired of being made a fool of. You understand?"

She retreated backwards; he pursued. It may have looked comical; but that was the way his anger chose to express itself. In this manner the girl returned by the same way she came, which was the footpath across the meadow where the clothes were dried.

"Oh, heavens! If the doctor would only come."

"What do you think of me?" Walter said, punctuating his words.

"Oh, Lord!"

"Do you think I'm drunk?"

"Oh, no, no. Not at all!"

"Or crazy?"

"No, no!--Where can the doctor be so long!"

Two very similar shouts put an end to the strained situation.

"Thank G.o.d, there he is!"

"Thank G.o.d, there it is!"