"Markus!" cried Johannes; and, springing forward, he threw his arms around him, and pressed his head caressingly against the wet clothing.
"For the love of Christ, Boy! What are you doing?" said Daatje. "What Romish freak is this?"
"Oh, Aunt Seréna!" cried Johannes. "May he not come indoors? He is so wet, and so tired! He is a good man—my best friend."
Daatje placed her arms akimbo, and stepped angrily in front of Aunt Seréna and the doorway.
"Now, I'll attend to that. The dear Lord preserve us! Such a dirty lout of a gypsy come into my clean marble hall! That's altogether too much!"
But Aunt Seréna, in that earnest tone which had always been a command for Daatje—admitting no oppositions—said: "Daatje, go back to the kitchen. I will settle this matter myself."
And turning toward Markus she asked: "Will you not come in and rest?"
Slowly straightening himself up, Markus replied: "I will, Madam." And he laid down his scissors, took off his cap, and walked in.
This time Daatje was disobedient, for she did not return to the kitchen, but remained, arms still akimbo, repeatedly shaking her head, surveying the intruder with horror—especially his feet, and the old coat which he hung upon the hat-rack. And, when Aunt Seréna actually let him out of the vestibule into the room itself, she tarried behind the unclosed door, anxiously listening.
Within the room a dead stillness ensued. The dominie's face took on an expression of utter amazement, while he lifted his eyebrows very high, and thrust out his pursed-up lips. Pietekoo tittered in her embarrassment, and then hid her face in her hands. The others looked, now with a puzzled mien at Markus, then in doubtful expectation at Aunt Seréna, with distrust at Johannes, with very expressive glances at one another, and finally, with pretended absorption in their hand-work. The silence was still unbroken.