Walter Pieterse Part 27

"With mamma's consent," said the father.

"Yes, with mamma's consent."

Mevrouw Holsma spoke to Walter kindly and offered him a chair. It was necessary, too.

Everything seemed so princely to Walter that he was glad to be seated. Three-fourths of his little figure was hidden under the table. That was something gained. He was amazed at almost everything he saw and heard. He folded his hands.

"Do you want to say a grace, little man?" asked the doctor.

"Yes, M'nheer," Walter stammered.

"A good custom. Do you always do that at the table?"

"Yes, always--at warm meals, M'nheer!"

Those children had been taught good manners. n.o.body smiled.

Walter bowed his head for a moment; and the doctor took advantage of the opportunity to give the children a look of warning. They remembered; and, if afterwards Walter discovered that he had cut a singular figure in this household, they were not to blame.

"You do well to do it," said Holsma. "We don't do it; and perhaps we do well not to."

"Certainly," said the mother. "Everyone must act according to his own conviction."

This simple statement moved Walter more than any of them could have imagined. He--a conviction! That short sentence of Mevrouw Holsma attributed to him a dignity and importance that was strange to him, and gave him a right he had never thought of before. Through the soup he was thinking continually: "I may have a conviction!"

It never occurred to him that a thing could be interpreted otherwise than it was interpreted for him by his mother or Stoffel, or some other grown-up person. The whole question of praying, or not praying, did not appear so important to him as this new fact, that he could have a conviction. His heart swelled.

The doctor, who understood Walter, recalled him from his thoughts.

"Everyone must act according to his conviction; and in order to come to a conviction one has to reflect a long time over the matter. I am convinced that our little guest would like to eat some of those peas. Pa.s.s them to him, Sietske."

Walter had grasped the import of Holsma's words, and also the meaning of this transition to the peas. Walter felt--without putting his feelings into words--that the pedantry of the schoolroom had been put aside at five o'clock, and that his host merely wanted to give him a friendly warning against dogmatic bigotry, without tainting the fresh, wholesome atmosphere of the dining-room.

Despite his shy, retiring nature--or, better, in connection with this characteristic--Walter was an extremely intelligent boy. This fact had escaped almost everybody he had come in contact with because of his lack of self-confidence, which prevented him from revealing his true self. He usually seemed to comprehend more slowly than others; but this was because he was less easily satisfied with the result of his thinking. His mind was exacting of knowledge. During Walter's sickness Holsma had remarked this peculiarity of the boy, and his interest had been enlisted at once.

Walter's shyness was due in a great measure to the manner in which he had been taught what little he knew. Everything his teachers taught him was looked upon by them as something immutable and irrefutable. Twice two is four, Prince so-and-so is a hero, good children go to heaven, G.o.d is great, the Reform Church represents the true faith, etc., etc. It was never hinted to him that there was any room for doubt. Indeed, he was led to believe that his desire to know more about things was improper and even sinful.

After all those extraordinary occurrences in the study, Walter was prepared to expect almost anything in the way of the unusual, but that William and Hermann, and even little Sietske, were allowed to help their plates to whatever they wanted--that was more wonderful to him than the aerial voyage of Elias. With Genevieve in the famous wilderness--yes, even in Africa it couldn't be any more free and easy. He was continually surprised and taken off his guard by the unwonted and unexpected. In fact, his thoughts were so far away that when during dessert the little girl pa.s.sed him a saucer of cream----

Ye G.o.ds, it happened and--I must tell it. Oh, if like the chroniclers of old, I might put the blame on some privy councilor, "who unfortunately advised," etc.

But what privy councilor in the whole world could have advised Walter to let that porcelain spoon tilt over the edge of the saucer and fall into Sietske's lap! He did it, he!

Oh, how sad it was. He had just begun to pull himself up in his chair. Another moment and he would have actually been sitting. Perhaps he might have said something soon. The name of a certain country in Africa, which Sietske could not remember a moment before, had occurred to him. It was not that he might seem smarter than Sietske that he was going to speak out. No, it was only that he might seem a little less stupid than himself. But now--that miserable spoon!

Before he had time to wonder how his awkwardness would be received, Sietske was talking along smoothly about something else--just as if this little "catastrophe" was a matter of course.

"Papa, you were going to tell us something about Olivier van Noort."

She arose, wiped off her little skirt and fetched Walter another spoon from the buffet.

"Yes, papa, Olivier van Noort! You promised it, papa."

All urged him to tell the story. Even Mevrouw Holsma manifested great interest in it. Walter was aware that this conversation was intended to cover up his accident. He was moved; for he was not accustomed to anything like this. As Sietske took her seat again she noticed a tear creeping down across his cheek.

"Mamma, I got a silver spoon. That's just as good, isn't it? These porcelain things are so heavy and awkward. They've fallen out of my hand three times; and Hermann can't manage them, either."

The mother nodded to her.

"And how it is with Olivier van Noort?"

The door-bell rang, and almost immediately afterwards a gentleman entered the room who was greeted by the children as Uncle Sybrand.

The host now invited all to the garden and sent Hermann to the study for a book.

"You young rascal, don't you go now and maliciously break that globe. It can't help it."

Then came the story of Admiral Olivier van Noort and the poor Vice-Admiral Jan Claesz van Ilpendam, who was put ash.o.r.e in the Strait of Magellan for insubordination. It interested all, and called forth a lively discussion, in which the entire family as well as the guests took part.

CHAPTER XXI

To readers of a certain cla.s.s of fiction it will no doubt seem strange if I say that Walter's visit to the Holsma family influenced greatly his spiritual development. Not immediately; but a seed had been planted which was to grow later. He saw now that after all independent thought was possible, even if he could not yet allow himself that luxury. The mere knowledge that there were other opinions in the world than those of his daily mentors was a long stride forward.

He was depressed on account of his lack of knowledge. Those children knew so much more than he did; and this made him sad.

They had spoken of someone who was startled to find footprints. Who was it? The child had never heard of Defoe's hermit. He asked Stoffel.

"Footprints? Footprints? Well, you must tell me what footprints you mean--whose footprints. You must give names when you ask questions."

"That's right," said the mother, "when you want to know anything you must mention names. And Mevrouw made the salad herself? Well, that's strange. The girl must have been out somewhere."

As to other "strange" things, which were not likely to meet the approbation of his family, Walter was silent. Not a word about that Saturnalia, or the omission of grace at a "warm meal"! Nor did he mention the liberties that were allowed the children, or the freedom with which they joined in the conversation. Perhaps it was a superfluous precaution. That bearskin would have been excused for many shortcomings.

Juffrouw Pieterse asked repeatedly if he had been "respectable." Walter said he had, but without knowing exactly what she meant. That affair with the spoon--had it been respectable? He didn't care to have this question decided--at least by his mother. But it was nice of Sietske; and wouldn't he have done the same?

He learned that the day was approaching when he must return to school. More than ever he felt that this source of knowledge was insufficient for him; but opposition was not to be thought of. He was dissatisfied with himself, with everything.

"I shall never amount to anything," he sighed.

His Lady Macbeth seemed uglier to him than ever. He tore her up. And Ophelia?

Goodness! He hadn't thought of Femke the whole day. Was it because she was only a wash-girl, while the doctor's children were so aristocratic? Walter censured himself.

He took advantage of the first opportunity to pay his debt in that quarter. For he felt that it was a debt; and this consciousness gave him courage. Picture in hand, he pa.s.sed the familiar fence this time and knocked boldly on the door. His heart was thumping terribly; but he must do it! In a moment he stood before Femke. The lady of his heart was quietly darning stockings. It is hard on the writer; but this little detail was a matter of indifference to Walter.