Such imperturbable calm must surely conceal a great plan, thought the veldwachter; and he was several seconds recovering from his consternation. Then he stammered,—
“And ... and ... nothing more, your worship. I reported the matter to you at once; I drew up the procès-verbal. But though I have done my best to find out....”
The honest veldwachter completed his sentence by shrugging his shoulders, extending his arms, and dropping them again,—illustrating the whole pantomime by a face expressive of the utmost helplessness.
But now Gerrit Rond, burgomaster, the principal resident, and respected head of the community, arose from his municipal arm-chair, and spake,—
“Kobus, I know it!”
Kobus listened in breathless excitement.
“Kobus,” the burgomaster went on, looking round him with vigilant eyes, as though he suspected that pear-thieves might be hidden in the corners of his sitting-room,—“Kobus, did he steal all the pears?”
The veldwachter was silent, and looked questioningly at the burgomaster. He could not make out what the latter was driving at.
“I mean,” explained the father of the citizens, “whether Jan o’ the Wood has not got a single pear left on his trees?”
“Well; no, sir. Two baskets the rascal made off with; but how many baskets there were to be had in that orchard, I don’t know. It’s quite terrible the way Jan’s trees bear, and everything prime quality, large-sized, and juicy. I think Jan’s father had them before him, and he must have brought them....”