Now there were two corners of the churchyard which had a baker’s shop near them. Near one of them, I had found my hero; but he was called Jan Liller, and not Van Assen! I resolved never more to buy tarts or buns in the corner where the traitor was buried,—that was accursed from henceforth. We had been in the habit of going there, because we got far more for our money than elsewhere.
It now at once became clear to me that this baker knew of the traitor’s neighbourhood, and was afraid of losing his customers unless he sold his goods very cheap!
I had not thus gained much information by my inquiries. Only I had found a new point of comparison, my hero versus Van Assen! Jan Liller was dearer to me than before, now that I could contrast him with a contemptible Van Assen! My hero had become greater than ever!
As soon as I reached home, I ran to my own little room, in order to gaze my fill on his relics—to steep my soul in his greatness.
On the stairs I felt for my key.
What was that? It was not in my pocket! I had not lost it—I was certain of that. Then I must have left it sticking in my box, and in that case my secret—my hero was lost!
A terrible fear overcame me. My steps dragged on the stairs. With a sinking heart I opened my door,—my presentiment had not deceived me!
There stood my little sister before the open box!
“You horrid girl—what are you doing with my things? Keep off!” I screamed, when I saw my secret revealed.
“But, Con! you had left the key in the lock, and I just looked in!” cried my sister, terrified.