"Old Andries van der Linden was free from pain, and spoke to them all in very cheerful and impressing words. As he lay among his pillows with his white hair thrown back and his beard on his breast, he was a fine man to see—a picture of a good and a brave man. He read aloud from the Bible, and then prayed awhile, giving out his words grandly and without a quaver. Then he shook them all by the hand and bade each one good-bye.
"'Now, Andries,' he said, and lay back smiling.
"Klein Andries stood at the foot of the bed with his rifle resting across the rail, but he dropped his head with a sob.
"'I cannot,' he said, 'I cannot.'
"'Come, Andries,' said the old man again. 'Come, my son.'
"Then Klein Andries caught his breath in his throat and steadied the rifle. The old man lay calmly, still smiling, with fearless eyes.
"'Close your eyes,' said Andries hoarsely, and as the old man did so he fired.
"The windows of the room were blown outwards and broken, but the shot was a true one, and the work was well and workmanlike done."
"It must have spoiled the sheets," observed Katje.