He felt that all of this would not prove very imposing for Femke. Finally:

"I do know something, but it isn't about faith and the creed. It's about Glorioso."

Femke promised to listen, and he began to relate the story. At first he spoke mechanically, using all the "and then's": but soon he put himself into the soul of the hero and told the story better than he had read it in the greasy book. At every deed of Glorioso he would spring from the basket and act the part of that hero in a way that made Femke's blood run cold. Still, how magnificent she found it! And when at last he was through, a spark from his peculiar but sincere enthusiasm had fallen into her heart, which like his beat with delight over the beauty of what she had heard. Her cheeks glowed--really, if a Treckschent had started to Italy at that moment I believe she would have gone along, in order to take part in so much danger and adventure--and love. The nicest thing about the story was that it showed how firm such a robber is in the faith.

"Don't you know another story?"

"Yes," said Walter. "One more. It's in a little book--a calendar, I believe."

And he related the story of Telasco and Kusco and the beautiful Aztalpa.

Telasco and Kusco, sons of the King of the Sun-worshipers, were twins; and so both were equally near the throne. They loved each other devotedly; so which would give way for the other? Which of the two was to become Inca? Funeral pyres were built, one for each, and prayers were offered to the sun that one of the piles might be ignited. But the sun did not light either. He ordered that Aztalpa, the sister, should choose one. That one to whom she offered her hand should inherit the throne and the empire. But the princess could not decide, for she loved them both dearly and both equally. It was then decided that both should go out hunting on a certain morning, and that the one who killed the first doe should become king. Telasco had red arrows, Kus...o...b..ue. The morning came. The brothers were lying in a thicket as the deer approached. Both fired, and both missed. Then they swore mutually not to miss intentionally the next time. They kept the oath, and two deer fell; but Telasco had shot one of Kusco's arrows, and Kusco one of Telasco's. Telasco then proposed that Aztalpa should be killed, to avoid any discord in the empire; and in the other world both would enjoy the same place in her affections. All agreed to this; but when the fatal day came, Aztalpa fell on her knees before Telasco and begged that she might receive her death at the hand of Kusco. Telasco cried: "Aztalpa, you have chosen!" All bowed down before Kusco; and when they looked for Telasco he had disappeared. He was never seen again.

Often Femke interrupted with questions, for there was much that was strange and wonderful to her; but she was charmed with the story and shared all of Walter's enthusiasm.

"I tell you, though, Walter, if that girl had known what Telasco was up to she wouldn't have done it. But the story is beautiful. I wonder if such things really happen."

"That was far from here, Femke, and a long time ago. That's just the way it was in the book. But now I must go home, for I haven't a stiver to pay the gate-keeper if I come in after eight. Oh, Femke--if I were only through with that poetry business."

"It will turn out all right. Just think of Telasco. He had a difficult task, too."

"No! I will think of the girl. Good-evening, Femke----"

Walter received the hearty kiss that his story had earned him, and dreaming of Aztalpa, who was guarding the linen, he pa.s.sed through the Ash Gate and turned towards home. The moon shone so brightly that he was annoyed not to have been able to remain with Femke. How much better, he thought, could he have told his story by moonlight! But he didn't have the price--a stiver.

CHAPTER XV

The moon paused on the sky, as if she were weary of her lonely lot. Was she grieved because ungrateful humanity had fallen asleep and was ignoring her?--or because of the light borrowed from her for thousands of years, and none returned? She poured forth her sorrow in heart-breaking noiseless elegies till the night-wind was moved to pity. Whish! he went through the trees; and the leaves danced. Crash! he went over the roof; and the tiles flew away, and chimneys bowed meekly; and over the walls and ditches the sawmills danced with the logs they were to saw. There a girl sat sleeping. Could it be Femke? The linen danced about her to the music of the wind, the shirts making graceful bows and extending their sleeves. Nightcaps, d.i.c.keys and drawers danced the minuet; stockings, skirts, collars, handkerchiefs waltzed thicker and thicker around the sleeping girl. Her curls began to flutter--a smile, a sigh, and she sprang to her feet. A whirlwind caught her up and----

"O, heavens, Femke, Femke!" and Walter grasped at the apparition that was being borne away towards the moon in a cloud of stockings, socks, drawers, shirts and collars.

"Mother! Walter's pinching me," cried Laurens, the printer's apprentice; and Juffrouw Pieterse groaned, that those boys couldn't even keep quiet at night.

The "House of Pieterse" gathered at Walter's bed. There was the n.o.ble mother of the family enveloped in a venerable jacket that fell in broad folds over a black woolen skirt. There was Trudie, with her stupid blue eyes; and Myntje and Pietje--but what am I talking about? In the new home Trudie had become Gertrude, like a morganatic princess in Hessia; and Myntje was now Mina, but preferred to be called Mine, as that sounded more Frenchy. But her stupid face remained unchanged. Pietje was now Pietro. Stoffel had said that was a very swell name.

Stoffel, too, had now appeared on the scene, to the great astonishment of his mother, who expected so much of him. This fine sense of propriety had been developed in the new home.

"What's the matter with you, boy?" cried everybody at once.

"Oh, mother, Femke--Femke!"

"The boy is foolish." That was the unanimous verdict of the family.

And they were not altogether wrong. Walter was delirious.

"They are carrying her away--around and around--Daughter of the Sun, decide--here is Telasco--thou shalt die, Aztalpa--Femke, stay, stay, I will watch the clothes--I will shoot the doe--a widower of G.o.d--together through the ivory gate--there she is again--stay, Omicron!"

"Ought we to call in a preacher?" asked Juffrouw Pieterse hesitatingly. She didn't know whether praying was needed or a whipping--or both.

And now, perhaps for the first time in his life, Stoffel expressed a sensible thought: "Mother, we ought to have a doctor. Walter is sick."

Walter had nervous fever. It was fortunate for him that a doctor was called in, and still more fortunate that it was a man who understood Walter's mental troubles. He exerted a most wholesome influence on the boy; though this came later, as at first he could only treat the disease.

On Juffrouw Pieterse, too, he had a good influence. To her great astonishment, he explained to her that children ought not to be packed together in a bed as if they were superfluous pieces of furniture being thrown aside; that air, light, play, enjoyment, exercise are all necessary for the development of body and soul; that whipping does no good, and that she had better dispense with her "divine worship." He told her of other things she had never heard of; and she listened willingly, for the doctor----

"Ah, dear Juffrouw Laps, you must manage to be here when he comes. He writes the prescriptions with a gold pen; and his coachman wears a brown bear-skin cape."

That gold pen and the bear-skin cape! Ah, if everyone who preaches truth could only dress up his coachman so swell! But alas, alas--I know a great many people who love the truth, and they have no coachman at all--not to mention the bear-skin.

And gold pens often get into the wrong hands.

"I just wanted Juffrouw Zipperman to come sometime when the doctor's here. Run and tell her, Gertrude, that I said Walter was sick, and say that we have lunch about twelve. He came about that time yesterday. And Leentje, you go to the grocer's--we need salt--have something to say about it--it's not just to be gossiping, you know--I despise gossip--but I would like to know if the people have noticed it. And you, Pietro, remember that you are to give me a clean cap when he comes--for the doctor is such an elegant gentleman, and such a doctor! And all that he said--I drank it all in. Mina, you mustn't stare at him again like that; it's not proper. But I'm curious to know if the people at the grocer's have seen him!"

I shouldn't like to be severe on her; but it seems to me that Juffrouw Pieterse was gradually beginning to take pleasure in Walter's illness.

There is something swell in having such a carriage standing before one's door.

Juffrouw Laps had come: "But dear Juffrouw Pieterse, what am I to do about my uncle? You are invited; and I have told him that there will be a poem."

"Very bad, Juffrouw Laps. You can see though that that poor worm can't write the poem. What about Stoffel? Why not ask him to write it?"

"It's all right with me. Just so it's a poem; otherwise I'm disgraced."

Stoffel was requested to take Walter's place, but he raised objections at once.

"You don't know what that would mean, mother. I would lose the respect of the boys. For anyone working with youth, respect is the main thing; and such a poem----"

"But the boys at school need not know it."

"But the man would tell somebody and then--you don't understand it. At the Diaconate school there was a fellow who wrote verses; and what has become of him? He went to India, mother, and he still owes me for half a bottle of ink. That's the way it goes, mother. For me to write such a poem? No, no, mother--for a boy like Walter it's all right; but when one is already a teacher!"

"And Master Pennewip?" cried Juffrouw Laps.

"The very man!" cried Stoffel, as if this supported his former argument. "A happy thought! Master Pennewip will do it."

"I've read a poem by him, Stoffel."

"Yes, yes. And you've read a poem by him. That's because--but how shall I explain that to you, Juffrouw Laps? You know that in teaching there are all kinds of things. Take Geography, for example. I will just mention one fact: Madrid is on the Manganares. Understand, mother?"

"Yes, yes, Stoffel. That's just as if you were to say----"

"Amsterdam on the Y. Exactly so. And then there are many, many more things, Juffrouw Laps. You have no idea how much there is of it. A grocer mixes sugar with something else. He must calculate exactly what he must get for a pound in order not to lose money. Think of it! And then you have partnership, and breakage, and the verbs--but I must go before those rascals break everything."

Stoffel returned to school earlier than usual, without having diminished Juffrouw Laps's difficulties very much. That poor woman could not comprehend how geography and Madrid and the grocer and partnerships made it impossible for Stoffel to write verses. Juffrouw Pieterse smoothed the matter over as well as she could and sent Juffrouw Laps to Master Pennewip.