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 cracked or 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, n.o.body 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 pa.s.s. He a.s.sured 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 when I 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 XX

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 att.i.tude that Walter could have laughed at them if he hadn't been so embarra.s.sed. Even the girl 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 embarra.s.sed 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 G.o.d first"!

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

"G.o.d first! Well said, my boy. Have you already thanked G.o.d?"

"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 "G.o.d 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."