“Exactly like a princess,” testified the girls; and they did not know that they were telling the truth.
“And she told Walter she would come again. But I just want to see her do it!”
The door-bell rang. Juffrouw Laps arose; and the catechist van der Gracht with his son walked into the room. Juffrouw Pieterse didn’t like this; she felt that the star of her narration would pale in the light of the poem Klaasje had brought with him. And even without a poem: such dignity, such a carriage, such manners, such a voice!
“Mynheer and Juffrouwen, may God bless you all this evening! This is my son Klaas, of whom you have heard, I suppose. He’s too close kin to me for me to praise him; but you understand—when it’s the father—well, all blessings come from above.”
“Yes, uncle, it will be a surprise.”
“Yes, indeed, Juffrouw, a beautiful surprise. I congratulate this gentleman on the happy return of his natal day. It puts me in the mood of the psalmist—and I thank God—for Mynheer, everything comes from above, you know.”
“Take a seat. I thank you,” said the host, who understood that he had been congratulated. “It’s cold out, isn’t it?”
“Yes, a little cool; hardly cold. It’s just what we call cool, you understand. The Master gives us weather as he sees fit; and for that reason I say cool. Everything comes from above.”
To this last statement all assented in audible sighs and thought themselves pious. What would have happened to him if some poor devil had announced to them that some things come from below?
“And now, uncle, what do you say? Shall we begin with the surprise?”