“And you, Juffrouw Laps, what can I pass you?” Juffrouw Laps selected ginger cake.
“Fill the cups, Trudie! Yes, Mrs. Stotter, when you are here you must drink with us. You are welcome to anything we’ve got. Pietje, wipe off a table—such a girl! And now go and look after the baby, and tell her that I don’t want to hear any more noise. Ah, Juffrouw Mabbel, children are a great deal of trouble. And your little Sientje—how is her cough now?”
“We’ve got a magnetisier, but that isn’t enough. We must have the clairvoyange of the sonnebule.”
“You don’t say so! One can hardly believe it. And when is he coming, the cler—cleek—clar——”
“It’s in the nerves, Juffrouw Zipperman. But he has the little nightcap and nightgown, in which she has sweated, you know; and he says that it will come all right now.”
“Who would have thought it! What will you do now?”
“That’s just it; the sonnebule must tell us what to do.”
Juffrouw Laps could not agree to this.
“I wouldn’t do it—I wouldn’t do it—not for anything in the world! I tell you, what God does is all right. Just mark my words!”
“Yes, Juffrouw Laps; but the Juffrouw at the provision store did it, and her child is lots better.”