How thankful Walter was! If at this moment he had had a letter to write—preferably to Femke—he would have boasted of being as wicked as three old kings put together.
“Arrogance!” repeated Juffrouw Laps. “Gold on top, iron in the middle, and feet of clay. The Master will overthrow him. Send him to me.”
This invitation to turn over the royal villain to her for religious instruction was repeated so often that it was necessary to give her an answer.
“But, dear Juffrouw, the boy don’t want to. He’s stubborn; and what can one do with such a child?”
Walter knew that his mother was not quite truthful; but, after his former experience with his friendly enemy, he found it desirable to keep quiet. When pressed, however, for an explanation he said:
“The man wanted snuff, and nobody would give him any; so I——”
Juffrouw Laps knew enough. Walter was as good as her prisoner: she now knew exactly how to take his fortifications, if they could be taken at all.
“If he doesn’t want to come to me, don’t compel him,” she said sweetly on leaving. “To force him won’t do any good. Let him exercise his own pleasure. I’m afraid you pick at the child too much, anyway. What an awful fuss we’ve made over a stiver!”
“That’s what I say, too,” replied the mother. “It looks as if we begrudged him the money! We could have spared another stiver, and we wouldn’t have missed it, would we, Stoffel?”
“Yes, mother, but it’s time for Walter——”