“Poverty is not disgraceful to confess,” replied the Dominé, quoting Pericles, “but not to escape it by exertion, that is disgraceful.”
Every child in the parish had heard the quotation.
Klomp yawned: “‘Peace and potatoes is better than a pother and a cow.’ That’s in the Bible, at any rate,” he replied, and suddenly he collapsed again upon the grass before the startled parson’s backward skip.
“Could I see Pietje and speak to her? Perhaps she will listen to reason,” hazarded the Dominé, controlling his wrath. The father pointed to the cottage door; then, suddenly remembering the vague possibility of future poor-relief, as yet not required, he faintly called his elder daughter’s name.
She crept out with a half-pared potato in her hand. She was a ruddy-faced girl, not uncomely in her slovenliness, like an apple that has fallen from the tree.
“Well, Pietje,” began Dominé Rovers, patiently, “so you are going to Groningen to a nice home and useful work. It is very kind, indeed, of the good lady who is willing to teach you.”
“Yes, Dominé,” said Pietje.
“Ah, that’s right,” cried the Dominé, with pleased surprise. “I’m glad to see you’ve come to your senses. So you’re going, like a good girl?”
“No, Dominé,” said Pietje.
“What do you mean, you impertinent creature?” exclaimed the minister, exceedingly irate. “Not going when you said you were. Not—”