“She has forgotten something,” said the boy.
Three or four cavaliers stormed back into the palace and brought her fan. While they were gone, the boys wondered at the pimples on her face. Walter’s pictures had had nothing of that kind. How different Femke’s face was!
Walter trudged along further; and, without thinking of where he was going, he came to the meadow where Femke and her mother dried their clothes. He sat down on the grass, intending to wait for the first signs of life in Femke’s home. He was not certain that she was there; he did not know but that she might still be at Holsma’s; but there would be somebody there.
Overcome by weariness he lay down and gradually fell asleep. His cap came off, rolled down into the ditch and disappeared in the mud.
If anyone passed by, he remarked that there lay a drunken fellow. Yes, youth begins early. Possibly the fellow was sick; but then the police would take care of him. Nobody hurt him; nobody touched him. His dreams were undisturbed.
He dreamed of various things; but the principal object of his dreams was a young girl, who was standing on a platform playing ball with heavy men, as if that were nothing. Suddenly it was little Sietske Holsma.
Then in his dreams he heard a voice:
“Goodness, boy, how did you get here?”
At first the voice was far away, then nearer, and finally quite near. He had the dim impression that somebody was pulling him up to a sitting posture.
“Sietske!” he whispered, still sleeping.