"Yes, like an aspen leaf!"

"If you fellows were——"

"All men are born free."

"Yes, we were born free and equal."

"And true Dutch hearts—what say you, Mrs. Goremest? What do you think, that's a daughter of M'neer——"

The name died on the speaker's lips. He became pale.

"A daughter of M'neer——!"

"Certainly. Ask Verlaan."

Verlaan nodded.

"Is that so, Klaas? Really and truly? Why then does she stand there dressed that way—like an ordinary girl?"

"Oh, those clothes came from my Gertie, you know. Rich people have——"

"Come, boys, we must go home now. Mother Goremest needs sleep, too. We are not made of iron; we are flesh and blood."

"Down with the tyrants! We were born free. True Dutch hearts——"

"Sh! The young lady——"

"What? That girl? What then?"

"Sh! The daughter of—but don't say a word. Damme if it isn't so—the daughter of M'neer—Kopperlith!"

"Kopperlith on Keizersgracht? What are you talking about, man! Kopperlith—on Keizersgracht!"

"Yes, of course. Come, we're going."

"His daughter? His——natural daughter?"

"That's right. You understand it now; but keep quiet about it."

The true Dutch hearts and republicans paid and left the bar.

It was a sudden whim of Klaas Verlaan's to make his ward a child of Keizersgracht; but it brought him in more ducats than he cared to admit afterward.

Kopperlith? Kopperlith? on Keizersgracht? Femke on Keizersgracht! And on the day after to-morrow he was to begin work for this wealthy gentleman.

His head swam. Was he still Walter Pieterse? He doubted it. Before he had quite come to himself, he was forced through the door with other late stragglers. It was time for Mrs. Goremest to close.

The street was comparatively quiet now. Walter remained near the "Herberge," which to him was a sort of temple where his Goddess was being worshiped. Now and then somebody else was pitched out the door, who would have been glad to stay longer. It was not every day that one got an opportunity to see a daughter of M'neer Kopperlith. Some wanted to join the triumvirate of Verlaan, the republican speaker, and Mrs. Goremest; but the three felt themselves strong enough to do the work and share the rewards.

At last the outflow ceased, and Walter was just going to peep through the curtains of the glass door, when the door opened again and the republican emerged. Walter heard Klaas call to him:

"There on the corner in Paarden Street, you know. If it costs a dollar more, that's all right. Tell the cabby——"

Walter understood. The republican was to get a cab—for Femke?

Walter waited. In the meanwhile, Mrs. Goremest had locked the door and drawn the curtains, so that it was impossible for him to look in now.

In a short time a carriage drove up, and the republican sprang out of it. The door of Mrs. Goremest's establishment opened again, and Klaas Verlaan with the ostensible daughter of Kopperlith appeared.

"Femke, I am here!" Walter cried, hurrying to her. "I am here. Oh, Femke, don't go with the strange men!"

"What in the devil are you doing here again!" snorted Verlaan, seizing Walter by the collar to pull him back into the restaurant. "What do you want? And who are you?"

"Femke, don't go with the strange men. I will take you home, I, Walter."

"The boy is weak in the upper story," affirmed Mrs. Goremest. "He's been bellowing around her the whole evening like a calf, and he hasn't spent a doit."

Walter reached for Femke's hand; and then he noticed how curiously she was rigged out. She was completely covered. Of her head, face, shoulders, figure—nothing was to be seen. Mrs. Goremest had contributed her cloak; but what would one not do for a Kopperlith? Still, she was saving: Only the stump of one tallow candle was burning. It flickered strangely, giving to everything a ghostly appearance.

"Is it you, Erich?" the girl asked.

"Femke, Femke, for God's sake, don't go with those strange men!"

Tearing himself away from Verlaan, he threw himself at Femke's feet. He pulled aside her cloak and covered her hand with tears and kisses.

"Just like I tell you," declared Mrs. Goremest. "The boy is as crazy as a bedbug."

"Femke, I will never deny you again. Strike me, tread on me, kill me, but—don't go with those strange men."

"Light!" cried the girl peremptorily—a word that even a Dutchman understands.

The republican took the candle from the counter and held it so that the light fell on Walter's face. The boy was still kneeling. Through an opening in her hood the girl looked down on him and was silent. She did not withdraw the hand that Walter held closely pressed to his lips.

Verlaan made a motion as if to remove the intruder; but the girl stopped him with a look. Then she laid her free hand on Walter's head, saying simply:

"My brother!"

"Another descendant of Kopperlith!" growled the republican. The young people have strange ideas about how to spend the night."

When Walter came to his senses, he was in the street again. The carriage had driven away—whether with her, or without her; whether with the two men, or without them—that he did not know. It made no difference to him: she had called him "brother," seriously, solemnly. She had spoken clearly and distinctly.

"O God! I thank thee. Thou art kind and compassionate. I didn't know that Femke could speak like that. She must have felt it down in her heart."

To-morrow, he thought, he would become immensely wealthy—in "business"—and, of course, he was going to be a king again, and still more: For Femke he would be more than a brother! Juffrouw Laps had awakened in him—well, something, he did not know himself what it was. His heart rejoiced; he walked upon stilts, as tired as he was, and wondered that his head did not bump against the clouds.



CHAPTER XXIX

For anyone in Walter's present mood, there are only two things in the world; self, and—nothingness!

Walter looked about him. "Butter Market," he read on a sign. He noticed that in the street socks could be bought, wagons hired, etc., etc.

But what did it all mean? Nothing. He had kissed Femke's hand!

It is too bad that the world did not sink out of existence on that summer night.

If Walter had noticed such an occurrence, he might have asked if Femke was hurt; otherwise the phenomenon would not have disturbed him.

The reader will understand, of course, that on this eventful night the world did not go down.

Walter forgave the sun for rising. He even excused the Butter Market for being such a hot place; but it was difficult for him to convince himself that it was not all a dream.

A new feeling took possession of him. His ambitious plans of a material nature receded into the background of consciousness. His one desire now was to love Femke—and win her love. Those continents that were expecting salvation from him might wait.

He thought of Femke and her soft hand. Never had her hand felt like that. Formerly it had seemed harder and rougher; but, of course, he had just been mistaken about it. He imagined, too, that hitherto he had not marked her voice well, nor her carriage. Surely, he had never seen the true Femke till to-night—better, this morning.

But—Klaas Verlaan and his rough companions! What did all that gab about M'neer Kopperlith mean? There were other questions too; but—Femke had called him brother; and that was one thing which with him was as firm as the rock of Gibraltar.

Brooding thus, he slipped along through the streets. Weak and tired, he came to the "Dam." Here he saw a long row of carriages. The coachmen sat in their places waiting for the princely guests, who had wanted to see a Holland sunrise. The sun was already in sight; but there were no princes and princesses to see him. A few laborers were looking on indifferently.

Yesterday Walter would have exerted himself to see a live, fullgrown king, just to find out if he looked like Macbeth, or Arthur, or Lear. To-day he was so tired that kings did not interest him.

He was just starting on, when the coachmen suddenly assumed a rigid attitude. A boy remarked that "they" were coming now. He was right: they did come; and all, except one old lady, drove away so rapidly that scarcely anyone saw them. She touched her coachman on the shoulder.

"She has forgotten something," said the boy.

Three or four cavaliers stormed back into the palace and brought her fan. While they were gone, the boys wondered at the pimples on her face. Walter's pictures had had nothing of that kind. How different Femke's face was!

Walter trudged along further; and, without thinking of where he was going, he came to the meadow where Femke and her mother dried their clothes. He sat down on the grass, intending to wait for the first signs of life in Femke's home. He was not certain that she was there; he did not know but that she might still be at Holsma's; but there would be somebody there.

Overcome by weariness he lay down and gradually fell asleep. His cap came off, rolled down into the ditch and disappeared in the mud.

If anyone passed by, he remarked that there lay a drunken fellow. Yes, youth begins early. Possibly the fellow was sick; but then the police would take care of him. Nobody hurt him; nobody touched him. His dreams were undisturbed.

He dreamed of various things; but the principal object of his dreams was a young girl, who was standing on a platform playing ball with heavy men, as if that were nothing. Suddenly it was little Sietske Holsma.

Then in his dreams he heard a voice:

"Goodness, boy, how did you get here?"

At first the voice was far away, then nearer, and finally quite near. He had the dim impression that somebody was pulling him up to a sitting posture.

"Sietske!" he whispered, still sleeping.

"Yes, that's my name. How did you know it?"

"Sietske——!"

"Why, certainly. Who told you? And what are you doing here. It isn't very respectable. Are you drunk? And so young, too."

He called Sietske's name again.

"You may call me by my first name, if you want to; but how does it come? Did Femke tell you? It's a real disgrace to lie here like a hog. What were you going to say?"

Walter rubbed his eyes and felt of his head. "I would like to wash myself," he said, not yet wide awake.

"All right," cried Mrs. Claus. "And you're not hurt, are you? Where is your cap?"

"Wash—with cold water," Walter said.

"Good! Come to the pump with me." She led him through the house and across the back yard.

"You needn't be afraid to undress here; nobody can see you. But how did you happen to call me by my first name all at once. Not that I'm offended at all."

Walter was still too much asleep to recall what had happened to him during the past few hours; so he only said that he had a headache and must wash himself first.

Mrs. Claus, noticing that he was ashamed to undress, hung some quilts on the fence, thus converting the yard into a sort of room. It never occurred to her that her own presence might embarrass him. Walter was still not quite pleased with the outlook for a bath; but since yesterday he had been thinking of other things as strange.

He began to strip, allowing Mrs. Claus to help him, just as if he had been fifteen years younger than he was. To Mrs. Claus he was only a child.

She laid him on a bench under the spout and began to pump. At the first drops he shivered; then the water flooded his head and shoulders. He could neither see nor speak. His efforts to speak she interpreted as calls for more water.

"Yes, this will be good for you." Her words were drowned by the splashing water.

"You didn't hurt yourself, did you? Do you think that will be enough now? I've pumped till I've got a pain in my side. But if you think that——"

She stopped all at once, but still held on to the pump handle, as if to show her willingness to continue.

"I forgot entirely to"—she began pumping again—"wash you off with green soap. Femke always washes herself with it. It makes the skin nice and smooth.—You ought to see your back now. It shines like a looking-glass."

Walter wanted to say something but couldn't.

"Yes, and your forehead, too. It's the green soap that does it. I guess your mother never washes you with green soap, does she? Then one must scour and scrub and rub. But, if you are not used to soap——"

She lifted that terrible pump handle again.

"I believe this will be about enough," Walter blubbered. His mouth was so full of water that again Mrs. Claus did not understand him.

"Green soap is good for corns, and for rheumatism." She was pumping away for dear life.

Walter finally succeeded in rescuing himself and the bench from that destructive stream of water. He was now able to make his cries for mercy understood; but he was not yet able to get up. Besides, the good woman had hung his clothes out of his reach, and he was ashamed. He remained sitting.

"Do you want anything else?" inquired the water nymph.

"No, no, no!" he answered quickly. She was already lifting the pump-handle again. "But——"

The simple, innocent woman did not understand; and, when he continued to sit there like a helpless lump of misery, she asked:

"Do you have a pain anywhere?"

"No, I haven't any pains."

"Are you tired?"

He was still tired, and said so.

"And I woke you up! I'll tell you what, you must go to sleep and take a good nap."

She began drying him off, as if that were a usual thing in her day's work. Then she rolled him up in a sheet and carried him off like a sack of clothes. He could not but notice the way she laid him down. Then she covered him warmly.

"Straighten out your legs, my boy."

Walter did as she said, and experienced an indescribable feeling of comfort. And when she punched him and patted him and tucked him in, and said: "Poor child, you can sleep good now. This is Femke's bed, you know——" then he was more than comfortable; he was delighted.

When he awakened at about four o'clock in the afternoon he heard whispering voices. He listened, at first to find out where he was, and then to understand what was being said.

It seemed as if there were a plot further to confuse Sietske with Femke in his mind.

"Yes, Sietske; but what does he mean by lying out like that? If I were his mother——"

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 butter 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 XXX

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 attitude 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 God, there he is!"

"Thank God, there it is!"

One cry came from Dr. Holsma's coachman, who was driving up hurriedly; the other cry meant that two boys, who were fishing in the ditch for frogs, had caught Walter's cap.

Walter accepted his lost property without question or complaint; while Kaatje, with tears in her eyes, ran up to Dr. Holsma to explain what was the matter.

"Is it really so bad?" asked that gentleman presently.

He approached Walter, who was shaking the mud from his cap, glad to think that he was concealing his embarrassment and fright.

"Well, my boy, it's a good thing I met you here. I wanted to ask you if you wouldn't like to take dinner with us this evening. Afterwards we will all go out for a little amusement, if you like."

That was the tone Walter needed to hear. He burst into tears.

"Thank you, thank you! That will be nice for my mother, too."

Holsma motioned to Kaatje, who had timidly retired to the background.

"Go to Juffrouw Pieterse and tell her that the young gentleman dines with us, and that he is going to spend the evening with us."

"Yes," cried Walter quickly, "and——"

The doctor looked at him anxiously. He was afraid that he saw symptoms of the alleged mental disorder; but Walter's eye was calm and gave no ground for fear.

"M'neer, can't she say too that I——"

"Out with it, my boy! What have you on your heart?"

"That I was with you—all day!"

Holsma reflected.

"Certainly," he said, "all day."

"From early this morning—from seven o'clock on."

"From seven o'clock on," the doctor repeated.

"And—I ate breakfast at your house."

"Certainly, the young gentleman ate breakfast at our house. To be sure, he ate breakfast with us. Kaatje, you can ride in the carriage with us."

As Holsma helped Walter in he gave the coachman directions to stop at Juffrouw Pieterse's, where "the girl" was "to leave a message." When he took a seat by his protege, Walter pressed his hand and exclaimed: "Oh, what a good fortune it is that I found you!"

"Do you think so? It was only a—mere accident. Mrs. Claus is a——"

"A cousin?" interrupted Walter.

"Yes, and she's a good woman," said Holsma. "She is a cousin of ours, and I came to visit her. I do that every week, not as a physician, but as a kinsman. You can go to see her as much as you like: nothing will hurt you there."

"M'neer!" exclaimed Walter suddenly—and he caught his breath—"I think so much of Femke!"

"So?" answered Holsma dryly. "I do too."

The doctor was diagnosing Walter's case; but he preferred to do it quietly. While speaking of indifferent things, he noted that Kaatje had been mistaken; that Walter was both excited and exhausted, but that his mind was unaffected. On the contrary, his mind was growing. His soul was expanding.

When Kaatje left the carriage, Walter felt that the time had come to give and receive explanations. Holsma was of a contrary opinion. He was friendly enough, but showed no inclination for heart-to-heart confidences. Walter's confusing story was promptly interrupted.

"I've heard that you're going to enter the world of business."

"Yes, sir, the day after to-morrow."

"Well, that isn't bad, if you get into the right hands. You must work, though; and that's good for boys like you."

Fearing that Walter might imagine he was something more than the average boy, Holsma continued immediately:

"It's a good thing for everybody, especially young people. They're all alike; and all need to work. All boys must work; and girls, too. Everybody must work."

Walter did not understand that the doctor was giving him a dose of medicine; but he saw that the time for explanations had not yet arrived. Still he would have felt better if he could have unburdened his mind of at least a part of those persistent memories of last night. His instinct of chivalry would have prevented him from mentioning the details of the Laps affair, which, after all, had only been an ineffective attack.

He began again; but the doctor interrupted him before he had hardly mentioned the fried potatoes.

"Yes, such things happen to everybody. That doesn't amount to anything. The thing for young people to do—and for old people, too—is to work. It seems to be rather windy."

That was true. If it had only been as windy yesterday.

"Do you like pictures?" asked Holsma, when they had left the carriage and were entering his home.

"Of course!"

"Good! Just go into that room. Look at everything as long as you please."

The doctor pushed him into the room, then ran through the hall and up the stairs to prepare the family for Walter's reception.

Walter found little pleasure in paintings. He had had no training in art. For him, a man with a dog and a hare was merely a man with a dog and a hare. He felt that a poem ought to have been written about it all; then it would have been intelligible. His glance fell on the portrait of a woman, or a queen, or a fairy, or a mayor's daughter.

Femke!

Instead of the North Holland cap she wore a diadem of sparkling stars, or rays of——

"Dinner is ready, and papa and mamma invite you to come out to the dining-room. Are you still sore after your fall?" It was little Sietske.

"I didn't fall."

"I mean from your fall on the table in the coffee-house. How comical! Well, if you are all right again, we're going out this evening—papa, mamma, William, Hermann, you, I—all! We're going to the theatre!"

Sietske had understood her orders.

"Going out?—to the theatre? But my mother——"

"Papa will attend to that. Don't worry; he will arrange everything."

Once out in the hall, Walter hesitated again. He motioned to Sietske and took her back into the room.

"Sietske, who is that?"

"That is a great-great-great-great-grandmother of ours."

"But she looks like——"

"Like Femke! Of course. Like me, too. When Hermann puts on such a cap you can't tell him from Femke. Come, now. We mustn't keep mamma waiting."

On entering the dining-room Walter was met by that quiet cordiality that the doctor had prescribed. When all were seated Sietske mentioned the picture again in apologizing to Walter for hurrying him away from it.

"Yes," remarked the doctor quietly, "there is some resemblance; but Femke is not so pretty. No, not by a great deal."

A cold douche!

Walter had never thought of Femke's beauty. He really did not know whether the girl was pretty, or not.

"Will you take some sauce, Walter?"

She had called him brother, so solemnly, and with such a mien! Of course the lady in the portrait, with the sparkling diadem, would hold out her hand the same way. Walter made an awkward gesture with his hand.

"Salad?" asked Sietske.

"It will be crowded," said Mevrouw Holsma. "Everyone will want to see the kings and princes. We haven't asked our guest yet if he wants to go. We're going to the theatre; would you like to go with us?"

Walter was charmed at the prospect. He had never been in a theatre, but had long wanted to see such a play as Leentje had described. He cared nothing for kings. He would have given a dozen kings for one baron carrying away a girl in the approved manner. The Glorioso influence was still on him.

"We shall see half of the sovereigns of Europe," said Holsma, "and a dozen candidates——"

Walter wondered what the candidates would do in the "comedy." Sietske explained.

There was still plenty of time. Holsma was going out to see a patient and promised to stop at Juffrouw Pieterse's.

For reasons of fashion and feminine finery the play was not to begin till nine o'clock.

Walter heard that Femke, too, was to witness the performance; and from the conversation he gathered that the relations existing between the aristocratic family and the poor wash-girl were most cordial. Mevrouw Holsma sent Sietske to ask Femke to come in; but Femke preferred to remain with little Erich, with whom she was playing at the time.

"Erich?" thought Walter.

"I thought as much," said Mevrouw Holsma. "That's why she wasn't at the table. She would rather stay with the baby."

"She says, too, that we sit at the table too long for her," added Sietske.

"She wouldn't enjoy the play anyway," observed William. "She's a good girl, but she's a little thick-headed. Don't you think so, mamma?"

"Everyone must act according to his own convictions, and consult his own tastes. Femke is too good to be forced to anything."

There must have been some special reason why the mother was going to the theatre with the rest, when she preferred to stay at home with little Erich, who had the measles. But she was going to remain "only a little while," and then come back with Uncle Sybrand. He would return to the theatre taking Femke with him, if she cared to go.

"I call it thick-headedness," affirmed William. "She just don't want to put on a fine dress."

"No, she doesn't want to be a fine lady," said the mother. "She is very sensible and fears that this might disturb her relations with her mother. We ought to have taken her when she was little; but Mrs. Claus couldn't give her up then. And now Femke can't give herself up."

"She's only stubborn," William explained.

"She is proud," corrected his mother, "too proud to appear other than she is. She wouldn't exchange places with a princess."

Uncle Sybrand came. He announced that the "Scylla" of Rotgans was to be given, followed by "Chloris," with something else as a close. Holsma had already returned, bringing Walter the assurance that it was all right with his mother.

Walter was enchanted in anticipation. Was he still thinking of Femke?

William said: "So far as I'm concerned she can stay at home. Suppose the students were to see me with a peasant girl! What would they do for me when I enter college in September?"

Such an Amsterdamer calls everybody a "peasant," even if he is a student and able to explain what sort of a "Scylla" that was.

All were now dressed and starting. Walter was to see his first "comedy," and, perhaps, take a part in one.



CHAPTER XXXI

Good Muse, sweet Muse, take us back to Pieterseville again. Whisper to me and tell me what happened there during Walter's romantic enchantment; and have a care that my language rises to the dignity of the subject.

We know already, Clio, how the mistress of the castle saw her progeny depart to protect the distressed lady from the nefarious attacks of robbers and murderers; how her blessing and the consecrated blade were withheld, and how the brave youth sallied forth with a nightcap his only weapon. We know, too, how the bachelor Stoffel, the hereditary custodian of the reputation of the family——

Ah, let us treat the matter quite simply, and leave the muse alone.

On the Friday evening in question Juffrouw Pieterse went to bed as usual. The others did the same. There were no indications of bad dreams. There was no trace of anxiety over the terrible danger to which Walter had thoughtlessly exposed himself. This might have been because they did not know of the danger. It had not been at all necessary for Juffrouw Laps to conceal her intention so slyly and always omit Walter's name from the knighthood of the Pieterse family. Thanks to the stupidity of the family, she might have gained her point without any finesse.

Saturday morning dawned, that morning on which Mrs. Claus applied the restoratives so abundantly, and so efficaciously.

"I wonder where in the world the boy can be so long?" said the mother.

"I don't suppose he got up very early; and then maybe she had him to read a chapter out of the Bible at breakfast."

This explanation by Stoffel quieted the family for half an hour.

"How would it do for you to go over there?" Juffrouw Pieterse proposed at last.

"I'm not going, mother. You know it isn't on my way to school."

That was a sufficient reason. Never do anything that isn't on your way—one of the favorite maxims of conservatism. Stoffel himself did not know how profound was the wisdom of his political aphorism.

"How would it do, then, to send Leentje over to Juffrouw Laps's to inquire about Walter?"

This proposal met with approval, and Leentje was dispatched forthwith.

Oh, poor Juffrouw Laps! She was "the most wretched woman in the world;" and the room from which Walter had fled so suddenly was now the temple of all the heterogeneous griefs and pains that novelists ever make use of.

I will not place Walter above Joseph, Theseus, Jason or Hippolytos. May Apollo preserve me from such blind partiality. Not by any means do I regard my hero as the most interesting mortal that ever left a woman in the lurch. No, not in Walter's worth do I seek for the measure of the forsaken lady's despair. Indeed, Juffrouw Laps's pain was not caused by any reflections as to the beauty or excellence of the vanished knight. There was another element in the matter that was filling her with horror and driving her to distraction. With all due respect for the suffering of other abandoned ladies, Asnath, Ariadne, Medea, Phaedra—but Juffrouw Laps had to face Walter's family. That was the trouble.

Her fertile brain evolved the most wonderful plans. How would it do for her to tell that he had been carried away in a fiery chariot before the eyes of the people, like Elias of old? She discarded the idea, for fear that no one would believe it.

At first she had waited at the window, watching for her little Theseus to return. When she saw him no more she thought that perhaps the mob had carried him off with them. That was not an unpleasant thought; since her fear for his return to his family was greater than her desire for his return to her. This is easily understood: what might he not tell at home?

It was already daylight; but Juffrouw Laps knew that it was too early to go to the Pieterses'. Besides, what would she say? That her little knight had run away during the night? And why? Whither? How did she know but that he had already told the story in all its details?

She determined—not to determine upon anything, and to leave the matter with the "Master" for the present. With this pious resolve she climbed into her maidenly bed; and, before falling asleep, she groaned: "If the rascal had only broken his neck, like the high priest Eli, in First Samuel, 4!"

No doubt the Master saw the distress of his faithful disciple and taught her how to meet the situation that awaited her waking; for Leentje soon returned with the assurance of Juffrouw Laps that Walter was out taking a morning walk.

In a way, this was the truth. The Juffrouw merely neglected to add why he was taking a walk, and at what hour in the morning he had gone out. Leentje, suspecting nothing, asked no questions. For her it was a "matter of course" that he would not go out in the middle of the night.

The family now regarded the incident as fresh evidence of Walter's objectionable habit of roving, and nothing more. They felt no anxiety for his personal safety.

"There it is again!" said the mother. "The trouble and vexation I have with that boy. Anybody else would sit down for a while after breakfast; but he—what does he do? He runs away before it's hardly daylight. Is that any way to do, Stoffel?"

"No, mother."

"And to leave us here anxious and worrying over him!"

"Yes, mother."

"This is a nice caper he's cutting again. He knows very well that we're all uneasy and won't have a minute's peace till he comes. God only knows where he is."

Stoffel could not wait to hear more. It was time for him to go to school.

It may be repeated that there was not a word of truth in all this uneasiness and anxiety. The family considered such a display to be the proper thing; though, for the rest, they did not manifest the slightest interest in Walter's fate. For aught they knew some accident might have happened to the boy; but, instead of making a serious effort to find out what had become of him, his mother found it easier to accuse him of indecorous conduct and general worthlessness.

Thus matters remained until Dr. Holsma's carriage drove up before Juffrouw Pieterse's door that afternoon and Kaatje alighted with her message. After the recent fright Walter had given her, she was glad enough to escape from such close proximity to the young lunatic. For thus she regarded him.

All rushed to the window.

"There he is; there he is!" cried the whole family in a breath, and as loud as they could. "Did you ever! Really, he's sitting there in Dr. Holsma's carriage."

This flattering observation banished everything else from their thoughts, and made Kaatje's task an easy one. It was now a simple matter for her to allay their fears. They were no longer concerned to know where Walter had been. It was enough that he was now in Dr. Holsma's carriage.

"Ate breakfast at the doctor's? Girl, you don't say so! And—and—why isn't the coachman wearing his furs?"

Kaatje was dumbfounded and could only stammer some reference to the season. In fact, the manner in which her message was being received strengthened her worst suspicions of Walter's sanity. It seemed to her that the entire family was a little "off."

"And he really ate breakfast at the doctor's? Do you understand, Trudie? Ate breakfast at Dr. Holsma's!"

"Yes, he ate breakfast with us. To be sure he did. The doctor himself said so."

"At Dr. Holsma's, and ate breakfast there?"

"Why, certainly. Where else?"

"And did he use the good manners I've taught him?"

"Of course, Juffrouw! But——"

"And is he now in the carriage with the doctor?"

"Why, Juffrouw—naturally!"

"Listen, my dear," continued the proud mother, "I am going to tell you something; but you need not repeat it to anybody else. Don't you know, that's an unusual child!"

"Yes," sighed Kaatje, thoroughly convinced, "I know it."

"You know it, don't you? And do you know why? I'm going to tell you. He's an unusual child, because—Pietro, move away a little, and you, too, Mina. Trudie, you can stay where you are, but pay attention to your knitting!—he's an unusual child, don't you know, because, before he was born, you understand——"

"Oh, Juffrouw!"

"Yes, my dear, I dreamed of a butterfly; and it was dragging off an elephant! You understand now?"

"Oh, yes, Juffrouw. I understand exactly."

"Don't you see? That's the reason. Give the doctor my politest regards, and thank him for me. If he's only well-behaved—I mean Walter. And the coachman wears such a fur cap only in the winter?"

Kaatje managed to escape, fully resolved never to dream of elephants and butterflies. Such an indulgence seemed to her to be particularly dangerous; for she now began to think in all seriousness that the whole family was crazy, and that what she had seen in Walter was merely a sample of the general disorder.

When a few hours later the doctor himself stopped at Juffrouw Pieterse's, her joy over Walter's exaltation know no bounds. Holsma took note of the stupid woman's foibles and follies, and resolved to prescribe an intellectual diet for Walter that would counteract their influence.

Poor Juffrouw Laps! If she had only known how happily everything had turned out, how much worry she might have spared herself! In the seclusion of her own room she was still quoting the Bible and fighting for her honor.



CHAPTER XXXII

The reader is now invited to return to the theatre party, from which he was called suddenly away by the anxiety experienced in certain quarters over Walter's disappearance.

The family took their seats, in the parquet this time, having had to give up their box to visiting potentates. The box was still unoccupied.

"A comedy!" Walter thought. He looked about him and listened.

The house was crowded, and everyone was talking. Backstairs gossip and court scandals were passed around. People were wondering who would sit there, and who would sit there. Later arrivals were pushing at one another and quarreling about seats.

"The programs for the princes are printed on silk. What do you suppose it cost a yard?"

"Rotgans is one of the first poets!"

"Hm! Better say one of the second."

"He's a poet of the seventh class."

"Why, then, one of his plays? We have poets whose song is as clear as a bell!"

"Of course, Bilderdyk! A Phoenix!"

"Oh, these foreigners don't understand a word of it anyway, and it doesn't make any difference what the play is."

"It's a pity about Floris."

"Oh, there's something behind that."

"Yes, Bilderdyk is a patriot."

"A genuine Hollander!"

"A genuine——"

"He will give those foreigners something to think about."

"Sh!—— ... not much flattery. No Hollander is going to do that."

"Sh!"

Everybody stood up. A footman appeared in the royal box, probably to see whether the cushions were straight on the chairs, or not.

"The idea, the very idea of standing up before a lackey!"

It was enough to make them indignant; but they had done it, even those who protested loudest. There were city aldermen in the number, and doctors, and professors, and prominent business men, including, perhaps, the great Kopperlith.

Another period of babbling and waiting; then another footman appeared. Again everybody sprang to his feet. Again all, except the silent Holsmas, railed at such stupidity.

The crowd became more restless. Innumerable times were they fooled by some footman or other, who opened a door to break the monotony. The people were already beginning to complain, but softly, cautiously.

Walter was carried away with the elegance and magnificence of it all. One thing, however, jarred upon his sense of propriety: he wondered how such swell folk could say such commonplace things. The Holsmas said nothing. Only once, when Uncle Sybrand pointed to a certain box, did they join in the general hubbub.

"She will sit there, I think."

"I shall be sorry if I have left little Erich all for nothing," said Mevrouw Holsma.

"He's safe with Femke."

"Yes, but I had rather be with him myself. The child is sick. I'm not going to wait much longer."

"It's doubtful whether she will come with the others. I've heard that she's full of moods and mischief. She cares nothing for convention. It seems to run in the blood."

"If she isn't here by ten o'clock I'm going. I don't care much about it, anyway."

This conversation occupied Walter for a short time. Who was this person on whose account Mevrouw Holsma had left the bedside of her sick child?

The tension of expectancy was broken, and a momentary excitement pulsed through the multitude. All arose to their feet, and remained standing.

An emperor, or something of the kind, entered the royal box. Walter could see little; but he inferred what was going on from whisperings he heard about him. His majesty had made a quick rush for his chair, turning over a few other chairs in so doing. That was a habit of his. Then he looked about the auditorium for a moment with squinted eyes, jerked up his chair and fell into it. He was in a hurry. The public was now at liberty to take their seats.

The other boxes were now filled quickly, as if by a stroke of magic. Remarkable costumes were on exhibition. There were bodices three inches wide, with skirts of as many yards. Voluptuous bosoms hovered between chin and girdle. Scanty sleevelets did not know whether they were to cover arms or shoulders. The ladies wore kid gloves reaching to their armpits, and on their heads were turbans and flower-gardens. The uniforms of the gentlemen were even more conspicuous. Those shakos! The enemy would have run at the sight of them.

The orchestra began to play. It was that song about the brave Dunois, of course.

"Arise!" someone called; and all scrambled to their feet again in honor of the brave hero.

The curtain went up.

"Yes, Minos, on the present that I gave to thee—— 'Twas stolen from the church——"

"What church?" asked Walter.

"Sh!" from William. "Poetic license. You will see how it is."

"——hangs Nisus' crown and life."

"Qu'est-ze qu'elle changte?" cried the countess-palatine. Then she let herself out on costumes, speaking in a noisy voice.

Walter listened like a finch. Not that he understood very well; but everything strange interested him intensely.

Not a soul was touched by the tragic bravery of King Minos; no one was listening. Poor Rotgans! Afterwards it was said that Napoleon had been especially pleased with "our Snoel" and with "our Watlier." Goodness, Napoleon! When he was to be crowned he had Talma the mimic to drill him for the ceremony—instead of saying to Talma: "Look, this is the way an emperor appears when he's crowned!"

Walter listened attentively; even though he sometimes felt that he could make such verses himself.

During the performance another commotion arose. One of their majesties had asked for a glass of orange lemonade; and this was something the buffetier did not have. A runner was dispatched to the drug-store post haste. He returned with a bottle of lemon-syrup. The situation became threatening. The news spread like fire that they were making a "Majesty" wait for such a trifle. King Minos declared:

"Feelings of pleasure thrill my inner man—"

"De l'eau de fleur d'orange! que diantre!" cried a chamberlain. And Minos noticed that nobody was interested in what was going on in his interior.

A confectioner up on "Olympus" allowed his light to flash out and gave some valuable information; but the police had him by the collar in a jiffy. He was to be dragged away and put in confinement for the present. The technical charge was, "Making a demonstration for the House of Orange." At that time the House of Orange was in exile, and Napoleon's brother was king of Holland.

"Feelings of pleasure thrill my inner man—"

repeated Minos with gusto. The conductor of the orchestra seized his baton and was going to play, "Hail to the Emperor." Many stood up in readiness to escape in case of danger.

In the meantime the prisoner was screaming as if he were possessed; but the two Italian police that Napoleon had brought with him could not understand a word.

The emperor himself had forgotten that he had called for orange water and was now engrossed in a military map.

"Qu' a-t-il?" he seemed to be asking the lady next to him.

Minos had begun again and was once more repeating his assurance that "feelings of pleasure thrill——"

Walter noted that the grown-up members of the Holsma party did not pay the slightest attention to the play.

"If she doesn't come soon, I'm going," Mevrouw Holsma repeated.

"Perhaps she's sitting further back in the emperor's box, where we can't see her."

"I've heard that in Paris she never stays fifteen minutes in the same place. Maybe we shall find her somewhere else," remarked another.

"I am not going to wait but five minutes longer. My little Erich is worth more to me than a thousand cousins——"

"Of the king," added Holsma.

Walter had thought that they meant Femke. What, then, could be so interesting about the princess? The boxes were full of them.

At the close of the third act Mevrouw Holsma left with Uncle Sybrand, who was to return with Femke. "If she will come," he said. "For she cares nothing for such a fuss."

Walter knew better. Uncle Sybrand ought to have seen her in the "Juniper Berry." But a knight tells no tales.

Old Minos is insanely in love with Ismene, who is so beautiful and virtuous. Scylla is insanely in love with Minos, who is old and dignified. Ismene is in love with Focus, who is a hero; and, possibly, Focus loves Ismene, though he does not treat her quite gallantly. He says to her:

"Princess, thy reasons spare: to me they're odious!"

The tumult on Mount Olympus began afresh. Had the rebellious confectioner returned? All eyes were directed toward the gallery. A policeman in uniform was seen remonstrating in vain with some men on the front seat. In order to make them understand his French, or Italian, he was pulling at their arms. They were to understand that he did not want to arrest them, or kill them, but merely wanted them to give up their seats.

"Princess, thy reasons spare: to me they're odious!"

"Qu' y a-t-il encore?" asked the emperor again; and, when one of the chamberlains answered his question, he laughed heartily. Heads were together everywhere. Something interesting was going forward on Mount Olympus. People whispered and tittered and laughed outright. Their eyes were fastened on the gallery. Even the emperor stood up and leaned out of his box. But it did no good: he could not see around the corner. He was surprised at this.

The countess-palatine, however, had got to the bottom of the matter. She was exchanging telegraphic messages with someone in the background on Mount Olympus. No one was thinking of Rotgans' play.

She was greeting someone with that famous fan. Whom? The rebellious confectioner? With arms extended she was testifying that there was something extraordinary up there among that rabble.

"Princess, thy reasons spare: to me they're odious!"

The countess-palatine threw off all restraint, and laughed and laughed. After the emperor had laughed hilarity was permissible. Her pleasure was beyond her control.

I should have to have a double pen to report what Uncle Sybrand said on his return, and, at the same time, reproduce the exclamation that escaped Walter, who was looking towards the gallery with eyes and mouth wide open.

"Where is Femke?" asked Holsma.

"She didn't want to come," replied Uncle Sybrand. "Just as I said."

"There she is!" cried Walter.

"Who?"

"Femke, M'neer, Femke, Femke—that is Femke! And she——"

The girl above had taken hold of the policeman by the collar and, pushing him to one side, had pressed forward to the front row. There she had seated herself on the laps of the fellows the policeman had been negotiating with in vain.

"It is Femke, M'neer. If only they don't hurt her!"

Again the emperor stood up and stared at Mount Olympus. He saw the girl with the North Holland cap and nodded to her. The countess-palatine greeted again with her fan, as if she would congratulate her on securing the seat.

"But, M'neer, it is Femke," cried Walter, amazed that he received no answer.

Even Holsma and Sybrand were surprised, but not so much so as Walter.

"Now, children," said Holsma, "you can tell your mother that we saw her." And to Walter he continued, "That girl is a relation of ours."

"Yes, Femke!"

"No, that isn't her name; and——"

"M'neer, don't I know Femke?"

That sounded quite different from what Walter had said that evening when he "denied" her.

The girl's big blue eyes, roving about the hall, suddenly fell on Walter. She bent over, looked him attentively in the face, then nodded to him and threw him a kiss.

At least, he thought it was that way; and it was that way. But everyone in the parquet thought that the kiss had been intended for him. Folk of quality were annoyed at the insolence of the peasant wench; while more "sporty" persons returned the attention.

Soon hissing was heard. The news had leaked out that Princess Erika, the cousin of the king, had dressed in the national costume to show her affection for the people.

"Don't you believe it, M'neer? I tell you that is Femke," Walter assured him with tears in his eyes.

"No, no, my boy. That girl is not Femke."

"But, she greeted me!"

"You saw the emperor greet her; and you know he would not salute a wash-girl."

That was perhaps true; but it was hard for Walter to accept it. And, on the other hand, it was just as hard for him to believe that the princess was a cousin of the Holsmas.

Again he imagined that the girl was nodding to him and motioning her lips. It looked to him as if she said: "My brother!" Walter lisped the words after her and pressed both hands to his breast.

Yes, now he had it! They considered him a little daft and wanted to cure him of his fixed idea. That would explain the visit to the theatre and also Femke's alleged unwillingness to come with Uncle Sybrand. But—how did she dare to interfere with the policeman? And the greeting from the emperor? And how did Holsma know that he had "denied" Femke, and that her presence could threaten his peace of mind?

"Oh, M'neer, let Femke sit here! I will be perfectly quiet. I am so afraid she will get hurt up there among those men."

Holsma looked at him wistfully. After all, could Kaatje have been right about it? He sought to distract Walter's attention by referring to other things; but it was useless.

"All right," said Holsma at last "I just wanted to tease you a little. Femke is sitting up there, because she—doesn't wish to sit here. She thinks that it wouldn't be proper, because she's only a wash-girl. She's afraid we would be ashamed. You see?"

"M'neer, no one need be ashamed to sit by her. Not even the emperor."

"Yes, yes," agreed Holsma. "Quite so. Femke is a brave girl and doesn't need to cringe before anybody. Watch the play, my boy."

Walter was willing to do what the doctor said, but not without taking leave of that glorious apparition. He looked up; and she smiled to him again. Then she took from her breast a rose branch, with three buds on it, held it a moment between the forefinger and thumb of her left hand, pointed to Walter with her right and let it fall.

The rosebuds landed on the bald pate of a stout gentleman near the Holsma party. He seized them and examined them admiringly; but, before he could decide what to do with them, Walter had sprung over half a dozen chairs and deprived him of the precious property. With a glance toward Olympus, Walter pressed the roses to his lips. Princess Erika nodded approval; and the playful countess-palatine applauded lustily.

That was more than Walter could bear. He had never forgiven himself for denying her; but she, the noble, the big-hearted, the majestic one!—she had proclaimed her pardon publicly before the people. And that was why she preferred to sit in the gallery. She had washed away the black spots from his soul; she had restored his soiled chivalry. These thoughts flashed through Walter's mind like lightning.

He sank to the floor in a faint. But was it any wonder?

The Holsmas took him home with them for the night; and another message was sent to Juffrouw Pieterse.

"Don't you see, Stoffel? Just as I said! I don't care if everybody knows it. He's simply living at Dr. Holsma's. Trudie, don't forget when Leentje goes to the grocer's—— Upon my soul, he's at Dr. Holsma's all the time!"



CHAPTER XXXIII

The next morning, Sunday, the doctor invited Walter into his study. He spoke to him sympathetically and encouraged the boy to lay his case before him; though he avoided everything that might make Walter believe that his experiences were anything extraordinary. He already knew more about it than Walter could tell. Even Walter's adventure with Juffrouw Laps was perfectly transparent to him. There was nothing lost to him because of the boy's lack of skill in handling the story.

While Walter poured out to him his inner experiences, Holsma listened quietly, as if it was all familiar to him. Walter's reverence and passion for the good he interpreted as a commonplace phenomenon incident to budding youth. He treated the boy's love for Femke as an ordinary matter. He admitted that it had been exactly the same way with him when he was a boy—a method that few parents and educators seem to be familiar with.

"Certainly, certainly, my boy. In such moods a fellow would like to be everywhere at the same time, ruling, regulating and putting things into order. He feels that he's responsible for everything; and it hurts him to see so much crookedness in the world. I know very well how it is. But you must consider the means and remedies at your disposal. How are you going to begin to improve things?"

Walter was silent.

"Do you think that everyone is bad? I suppose you hardly think that. There are plenty of people in the world who wish for the same things that you are worrying about. Why don't they change the world?"

Again Walter was silent. The very simplicity with which Holsma put the question disconcerted him.

"I will try to help you out. Do you believe that I am a good man?"

"Oh, yes!" cried Walter enthusiastically.

"You think so? Well, I think so too. I should be ashamed not to be able to say that. Why don't I reform the world? You often speak of Africa. That's because you don't know that country, my boy. And I, who am a good man, have not abolished slavery. Why not, do you suppose?"

Walter returned no answer. Holsma was busy with a surgical operation. Is it any wonder that the patient tried to withdraw the member that was being cut away?

"I will present the matter to you differently. Do you hear that knocking and hammering? Listen! That comes from the blacksmith's shop over there. It isn't so bad on Sunday; but you can easily imagine that the noise sometimes disturbs me."

"In case of sickness!"

"Yes, and also when I wish to think. And then I should like to see the blacksmiths swept away—quick—just like that! But why don't I do it?"

"Because—because you can't, M'neer."

"Quite right. For the same reason I have not yet corrected any of the wrongs in Africa. Nor in Asia; nor in America; nor in other countries that I might mention. But yesterday evening, when you were taken sick in the theatre, I brought you home with me and put you to bed. Then I sent a messenger to quiet your mother. That was my duty, wasn't it?

"No thanks, my boy. It seemed to me to be my duty; and I did it—because I could. Whatever is impossible, is not my duty; and that's the reason I don't take those blacksmiths between my thumb and forefinger and transport them to some other clime. For the same reason I don't fret over doings in Africa. Impossible duty is no duty; and running after the impossible interferes with the performance of real duties. At school did you ever fail to know a lesson?"

"Oh yes, very often! But not lately; because Femke——"

"Leave Femke out of account for the present. I may say something about her another time. When you were neglecting your books at school, you were thinking of other things, things far removed from your work.

"That is a mistake that many young people make—don't be offended: I did the same thing—and usually on account of laziness. It is more convenient to imagine one's self soaring over the distant mountain top than to lift a foot and step over the stone just in front of one. Of all the million things that you would like to do there are only a very few that you can do. Busy yourself with these few. That is the way to succeed. Whatever comes up, always ask: 'What is my immediate duty?' Will you promise to do this?"

Walter gave Holsma his hand on it.

"And you would like to know more, my boy? I would, too. What lies before you? Well, you are behind in your studies. Other boys of your age know more. We will speak of that again, however; for that is something to be attended to later, and does not come under the head of immediate duty. That smattering of Latin, for which you envy William, you can acquire in a few months, when once you've learned how to use your will. The enemies you have to fight now are quite different from the knights of your romances. Do not underestimate the difficulties you will have to contend with. That might result in your defeat. You must learn to use your intellectual faculties at will; and keep a firm grip on 'Fancy,' or else she will throw you head over heels. Dreaming is not living."

Walter nodded assent.

"True manliness," Holsma continued, "means, to do what has to be done, no difference how insignificant it may be. What would you think of a lot of knights, who let tramps beat them over the heads because their code of honor did not allow them to fight with tramps? You are going into business now: come to me in a month and tell me if you have kept your word. Then we will speak further; but—that first! Will you?"

"Certainly I shall keep my word, M'neer. But, M'neer, may I ask——?"

"About Femke? Well, that is a good, brave girl. She's a cousin of mine."

"But how did she happen to be——?"

"The young lady in the theatre wasn't Femke. That was Princess Erika. We wanted to see her because her ancestors were related to ours. You rogue, you! There was nothing special about that."

"A real princess?"

"Yes; and Femke is a real wash-girl. I hope that Princess Erika has as admirable a character as Femke. But don't attribute too much importance to this, my boy. Such differences in related families are of frequent occurrence, whether one notices them, or not. There was a time when Erika's forefathers dressed themselves in skins; and mine did the same. We don't know whether she is aware that she has relations here or not. Uncle Sybrand found out—well, he takes a sort of pleasure in tracing out the identity of opposites. Rightly understood, the world is smaller than you imagine; everything is a link in the same sequence. Who knows but that you may turn the course of history to-morrow, when you go to work for—what is the style of the firm?"

"Ouwetyd & Kopperlith."

"Yes, when you go to work for Ouwetyd & Kopperlith. But, whether it's to be an historical event, or not, perform your immediate duty. That is the chivalrous, manly thing for you to do—if you will take my advice. Will you?"

"Yes, M'neer! But—Femke?"

"There you go again! She has nothing to do with your immediate duty. The lady that you must attend upon and serve faithfully is—who?"

"Do you mean 'Business'?"

"Right. If you are determined to know more about Femke, I will tell you what she says. She says that for the present you must think of nothing but your work."

"Oh, I will, I will!"

"For about ten years."

"Ten years? Ten?"

"Yes, that is what she said when she heard how little you know and how little you can do."

"Ten years?"

"Yes, that is what she said. Perhaps eight, perhaps twelve, perhaps twenty. One cannot say exactly beforehand. You understand that, don't you?"

"Ten years!"

"So she said."

"I will!"

"Good. It will give me pleasure—and Femke, too. Don't imagine it will be particularly difficult. Ten years ago thousands began just where you will begin to-morrow; and they are still alive. So, you see, it can be done. Besides, think only of the first month; and then the time will seem shorter. I shall expect you to come to see me in about a month; then we shall have more to say."

Before Walter left, he promised again to banish all boyish follies from his thoughts. But he put away the rosebuds; and he kept them.

THE END