Stoffel’s face was a study, a curiosity. If the said thieves and murderers could have seen it they would have been greatly pleased, for it bore evidence of Stoffel’s intention to leave them undisturbed in their work.
“But, Juffrouw,” he said, “haven’t you a cat in your room?”
“A cat? A cat to fight murderers with!”
“No, Juffrouw, not to fight murderers; but a cat that might have eaten the potatoes.”
“I don’t know anything about a cat. I only know that the city is full of low-down people when so many murders are committed and no one tries to catch the murderers. Not that I am anxious about my life—no, not at all. When the Master calls me I shall say, ‘Let thy daughter go in peace; my eyes have seen thy glory.’”
“But, woman, why didn’t you look in your closet, and under the bed?”
“I didn’t want to do that, Juffrouw Pieterse! The Lord will take care of me—but one must not try the Lord’s patience. I would not go in the closet, or look under the bed—not for everything in the world! For of course he’s there, and that’s why I wanted to ask if your son—Stoffel, or, if Stoffel doesn’t want to, if perhaps your son—Laurens, or——”
“But, Juffrouw, why didn’t you call the neighbors?”
Thus spoke Stoffel.
“The neighbors? Well, I guess they know about it. The man who lives under me is afraid of a poodle-dog, not to mention a murderer. There’s a man living next to me; but, you know, he is—what shall I say—he is a sort of bachelor, and I don’t want to get talked about. You know a woman must always think of her reputation, and not get mixed up in gossip.”