When, two days later, the three heavily-laden waggons had rumbled off over the Prussian frontier, and Stammering Joob and Crippled Manes were marching away to the town, arm in arm, and not very sober, the latter turned back and shouted:
“Good-bye, Master Knoups! next year we’ll be neighbours again, for a time!”
“Low riff-raff, that come to steal the bread out of a man’s mouth!” said Knoups—who had heard it this time—to Geutruu. “Well, that article’s spoilt for good and all; I shall have to put all my strength into my own trade!”
The following week, a notice, posted up on the Haffert Raadhuis, announced to all and sundry that tenders for the new roofing of the church were to be sent in to the authorities by that day fortnight.
“It’s no good my sending in a paper,” thought Mathis; “the Curé and the burgomaster are all in the same boat, and the Curé will take good care I don’t get the contract.”
It may be supposed, therefore, that he looked amazed when Geutruu, returning from the town one rainy afternoon, stood still, right in front of him, and said:
“Now I’m going to tell you something! You’ll have to send in your paper for the church roof!”
“I!—for the roof!” cried Mathis.
“You, for the roof!” repeated Geutruu. “Just listen now. I had just got outside the gate when it began to rain. I was going to turn my skirt up over my head, when somebody came running after me, and called out, ‘Vrouw Knoups! Vrouw Knoups!’ I turned round, and who should it be but M. le Curé’s sister, Joffer Marianneke. ‘Come along under my umbrella,’ says she, ‘and I’ll walk home with you!’ I said, ‘Too much honour, Joffer Marianneke,’ and ‘Thank you, Joffer Marianneke,’—but it was no use, I had to come along under her umbrella. And then she told me that M. le Curé quite expects you to send in your paper for the contract, and that it grieves him so much that there should be a black sheep in the congregation; and she is coming next week to drink coffee with us. And what do you say now?”
Knoups listened, astonished, and at the same time excited.