“For pleasure!”
“For pleasure,” repeated the teacher in a grave-yard voice, “for pleasure!”
“He—does—it—for—pleasure!”
The company was stupefied. Even Stoffel’s pipe had gone out.
But Walter’s was not a nature to be easily disturbed. After his mother had beaten him till she came to her senses again, he went to bed in the little back room, far from dissatisfied with the day’s work, and was soon dreaming of Fancy.
Chapter XI
On the next day things had largely resumed their wonted course. That someone may not charge me with carelessness, or indifference towards the persons with whom we spent a pleasant evening, I will remark in passing that Juffrouw Mabbel was again busy with her baking and “clairvoyange,” and that Mrs. Stotter had resumed her activities with the stork. Those unfortunate creatures who were committed to her care she condemned to lie motionless for two or three months—perhaps to give the newly born an idea of their new career, and, at the same time, to punish them for the shameful uproar they had caused by their birth.
As for Master Pennewip, he was busy, as usual, educating future grandparents of the past. His wig had not yet recovered from the excitement of the night before and was longing for Sunday.
Klaasje van der Gracht had been awarded the prize with an impressive, “Keep on that way, my boy”; and he kept on. I still see poems in the papers whose clearness, conciseness and sublimity betray his master hand. I have heard that he died of smallpox—he had not been vaccinated; it will be remembered—but I consider it my duty to protect him from any such slander. A genius does not die; otherwise it wouldn’t be worth while to be born a genius. Still, if Klaas had died like other people, his spirit would have lived in those coming after him. And that is a beautiful immortality.