ody screamed, and Walter sprang
after her.

If he had died at that moment the keeper of the gate would hardly
have turned him away because he didn't know French and had not been
confirmed.

When he was brought home, wet and dirty, Juffrouw Pieterse said that
one ought not to tempt the Master, and that's what one did when one
jumped into the water without being able to swim.

But I find that the man who can't swim is the very one to expect
something of the Master; for the man who can swim has some prospect
of helping himself.

And Juffrouw Pieterse complained that there was "always something
the matter with that boy." There was something the matter with him.

CHAPTER XIV

Juffrouw Pieterse must have inherited something, for all at once the
Pieterses moved to a more respectable neighborhood, and the daughters
no longer knew any of the girls that they used to sew with. Such things
do happen in cases of inheritance, when one moves to a more select
quarter. Besides, there were other signs. They exerted themselves in
trying to get Leentje to speak "better Dutch." Stoffel was zealous
in teaching her, but Juffrouw Pieterse spoiled everything by her
bad example.

Walter was now wearing a new jacket, with a small collar, such as
cabmen wore later. For him a jacket to stuff in the trousers was a
thing of the past. It "looked so babyish," the young ladies said,
and was "out of the question now when the boy can write poetry."

That Walter could write poetry was boasted of to everybody that
would listen. Under the circumstances they really had no right to
reap any fame from Walter's robber song; but this only showed what an
important role vanity plays in the world. Of course he himself never
heard anything of this; it was mentioned only when he was not present.

The image of Cecilia had disappeared from Walter's heart; and little
Emma was forgotten. Omicron must show her face in the stars from time
to time to remind the child of his love. And even when he looked at
the evening sky and his soul was stirred by an inexpressible longing
after the good, it was not so much that he was thinking of Omicron
as that he was moved by vague sweet memories. In the twelve years of
his life there was a mythical prehistoric period which was difficult
to separate from the historical period.

He didn't know that he could write verses. He accepted it as a matter
of course that his robber song was very poor, and looked upon Klaasje