Chapter XVIII
Walter’s illness now took a favorable turn. As soon as he was strong enough to leave his bed, the whole family noticed that he had grown. All remarked about it and called each other’s attention to it. No one was better convinced of the fact than Juffrouw Pieterse; for “that boy” had “outgrown all of his clothes,” and it would not be easy “to fit him out respectably again.” So much interesting notoriety and respectability had been reaped from Walter’s illness that it was only natural that his convalescence should be turned to the best account.
The child would sit and fill in the colors in pictures. The doctor had presented him the pictures and a box of colors. The latter, so Stoffel said, were the genuine English article.
Oh, such pictures!
Walter was interested especially by pictures from the opera and the tragedy. There were pictures from Macbeth, Othello, Lear, Hamlet, from “The Magic Flute,” “The Barber of Seville,” “Der Freischütz,” and from still a few more—each one always more romantic than the last. In selecting suitable colors for his heroes and heroines, Walter had the advice of the entire family, including Leentje. Usually there was disagreement, but that only made the matter more important. In only two details were they agreed: faces and hands were to have flesh-color, and lips were to be painted red. It had always been that way; otherwise, why was it called flesh-color? On account of this arrangement Hamlet came off rather badly, receiving a much more animated countenance than was suited to his melancholy.
“I wish I knew what the dolls mean,” said Walter. He was talking about his pictures.
“It’s only necessary to ask Stoffel,” his mother replied. “Wait till he comes from school.”
Walter asked him. Stoffel—there are more such people in the world—would never admit that he did not know a thing; and he always knew how to appear knowing.
“What the dolls mean? Well, you see—those are, so to say, the pictures of various persons. There, for instance, the one with a crown on his head—that is a king.”
“I told you Stoffel could explain them,” corroborated his mother.