Despite his shy, retiring nature—or, better, in connection with this characteristic—Walter was an extremely intelligent boy. This fact had escaped almost everybody he had come in contact with because of his lack of self-confidence, which prevented him from revealing his true self. He usually seemed to comprehend more slowly than others; but this was because he was less easily satisfied with the result of his thinking. His mind was exacting of knowledge. During Walter’s sickness Holsma had remarked this peculiarity of the boy, and his interest had been enlisted at once.
Walter’s shyness was due in a great measure to the manner in which he had been taught what little he knew. Everything his teachers taught him was looked upon by them as something immutable and irrefutable. Twice two is four, Prince so-and-so is a hero, good children go to heaven, God is great, the Reform Church represents the true faith, etc., etc. It was never hinted to him that there was any room for doubt. Indeed, he was led to believe that his desire to know more about things was improper and even sinful.
After all those extraordinary occurrences in the study, Walter was prepared to expect almost anything in the way of the unusual, but that William and Hermann, and even little Sietske, were allowed to help their plates to whatever they wanted—that was more wonderful to him than the aërial voyage of Elias. With Geneviève in the famous wilderness—yes, even in Africa it couldn’t be any more free and easy. He was continually surprised and taken off his guard by the unwonted and unexpected. In fact, his thoughts were so far away that when during dessert the little girl passed him a saucer of cream——
Ye gods, it happened and—I must tell it. Oh, if like the chroniclers of old, I might put the blame on some privy councilor, “who unfortunately advised,” etc.
But what privy councilor in the whole world could have advised Walter to let that porcelain spoon tilt over the edge of the saucer and fall into Sietske’s lap! He did it, he!
Oh, how sad it was. He had just begun to pull himself up in his chair. Another moment and he would have actually been sitting. Perhaps he might have said something soon. The name of a certain country in Africa, which Sietske could not remember a moment before, had occurred to him. It was not that he might seem smarter than Sietske that he was going to speak out. No, it was only that he might seem a little less stupid than himself. But now—that miserable spoon!
Before he had time to wonder how his awkwardness would be received, Sietske was talking along smoothly about something else—just as if this little “catastrophe” was a matter of course.
“Papa, you were going to tell us something about Olivier van Noort.”
She arose, wiped off her little skirt and fetched Walter another spoon from the buffet.
“Yes, papa, Olivier van Noort! You promised it, papa.”