Next to this, in tiny cages, were finches. They hopped back and forth, back and forth, from one perch to another. That was all the room they had; and there they cried, "Pink! Pink!" Now and then one of them would sing a full strain. Thus it went the whole day long.
"They are blind," said Daatje. "They sing finer so."
"Why?" asked Johannes.
"Well, boy, they can't see, then, whether it is morning or evening, and so they keep on singing."
"Are you converted, too, Daatje?" asked Johannes.
"Yes, Master Johannes, that grace is mine. I know where I'm going to. Not many can say that after me."
"Who besides you?"
"Well, I, and our mistress, and Dominie Kraalboom."
"Does a converted person keep on doing wrong?"
"Wrong? Now I've got you! No, indeed! I can do no more wrong. It's more wrong even if you stand on your head to save your feet. But don't run through the kitchen now with those muddy shoes. The foot-scraper is in the yard. This is not a runway, if you please."