The wig nodded acquiescence.
Trudie Gier: “Juffrouw Pennewip.”
The path of virtue she shows us each day,
And we are glad to go that way;
And as there’s nothing to do more fitting,
She teaches us sewing, darning and knitting.
The wig fairly leaped with pleasure, and the curls embraced one another. This out-pouring of Trudie’s heart was borne at once to Juffrouw Pennewip, and was later hung by the fireplace in honor of the poetess and the subject of the poem.
Then followed a sublime poem on God by Klaasje van der Gracht, the son of the Catechist. He was thirteen years old, and had not been vaccinated—out of regard for predestination.
“If only his father didn’t help him!”
The wig was rigid with astonishment.