“Juffrouw Pieterse,” he said with extreme dignity, “I didn’t come here simply to drink a cup of sage-milk.”
“But, Master Pennewip, please be seated!”
It wasn’t easy; but the ladies made room and he was soon seated.
He cleared up his throat and looked about him with dignity. Then he drew a roll of manuscript from his pocket, disarranged his wig and spoke:
“Juffrouw Pieterse! You are a worthy, respectable woman, and your husband sold shoes——”
Juffrouw Pieterse looked triumphantly at Juffrouw Laps.
“Yes, Master Pennewip, quite so; he did——”
“Don’t interrupt me, Juffrouw Pieterse. Your departed husband sold shoes. I have taught your children from little tots up to their confirmation. Haven’t I, Juffrouw Pieterse?”
“Yes, Master Pennewip,” she replied modestly; for she was afraid of that excessive dignity in Pennewip’s manner and voice.
“And I just want to ask you, Juffrouw Pieterse, whether, during all this time that your children were in my school, you ever heard any complaints—reasonable complaints—of the manner in which I, with my wife, instructed your children in reading, writing, arithmetic, national history, psalmody, sewing, knitting, drawing and religion? I put the question to you, Juffrouw Pieterse, and wait for a reply.”