The first day she was sad; the second, impatient; the third, restless.
“Mother, I’m going to see what’s become of the little boy who was going to write a poem.”
“Do, my child!” said the mother. “Do you think you will find him?”
Femke nodded; but her nod was not convincing. She did not know where Walter lived and was afraid to say so. It took courage to start out to trace the child when she didn’t know where he lived; and this courage she wished to conceal. And why? Just timidity incident to the tender feelings. Sometimes we conceal the good and boast of the bad.
The girl dressed herself as prettily as she could and put all her money in her pocket. It was only a few stivers. She hurried through Ash Gate and inquired where the shop was that lent books. Thus she came directly to the Hartenstraat. She simply retraced the steps of our hero, when he made that first sally with Glorioso.
Less timid than Walter—Femke was older, and had had more experience with men—she asked the gruff fellow in a business-like way for “the book about the countess with the long train or her dress.”
“What? What’s the title?”
“I don’t know,” Femke said. “It’s about a robber—and the Pope’s mentioned in it, too. I am hunting for the boy who read the book. I wanted to ask where he lives—I will pay you for your trouble.”
“Do you think I’m a fool? Am I here to hunt for boys?”
“But, M’neer, I will pay you,” the girl said, and laid the money on the counter.