daughters, "think of it--and us standing there!"

"Then she sat down in front of the bed again and talked to him."

"Where can the young Mr. van der Gracht be!" sighed Juffrouw
Laps. "It's only because we have a little surprise, uncle."

"And finally she went away like a princess!"

"Exactly like a princess," testified the girls; and they did not know
that they were telling the truth.

"And she told Walter she would come again. But I just want to see
her do it!"

The door-bell rang. Juffrouw Laps arose; and the catechist van der
Gracht with his son walked into the room. Juffrouw Pieterse didn't
like this; she felt that the star of her narration would pale in the
light of the poem Klaasje had brought with him. And even without a
poem: such dignity, such a carriage, such manners, such a voice!

"Mynheer and Juffrouwen, may God bless you all this evening! This
is my son Klaas, of whom you have heard, I suppose. He's too close
kin to me for me to praise him; but you understand--when it's the
father--well, all blessings come from above."

"Yes, uncle, it will be a surprise."

"Yes, indeed, Juffrouw, a beautiful surprise. I congratulate this
gentleman on the happy return of his natal day. It puts me in the
mood of the psalmist--and I thank God--for Mynheer, everything comes
from above, you know."

"Take a seat. I thank you," said the host, who understood that he
had been congratulated. "It's cold out, isn't it?"

"Yes, a little cool; hardly cold. It's just what we call cool, you
understand. The Master gives us weather as he sees fit; and for that
reason I say cool. Everything comes from above."

To this last statement all assented in audible sighs and thought
themselves pious. What would have happened to him if some poor devil
had announced to them that some things come from below?

"And now, uncle, what do you say? Shall we begin with the surprise?"

"Go ahead, niece; what have you got?"

"Oh, it's only a trifle, Mynheer," put in the catechist. "My son is
a poet. I don't praise him, because he's too close kin to me; but
he's a clever fellow--I can say that without bragging--for everything
comes from above. No, I won't praise him--praise is for the Master
alone. But he's a clever fellow."

The poet Klaas looked conscious, and sat toying with the bottom button
on his vest. He looked poetical all over.

"And so, Mynheer, without bragging--get it out, my son. As a father,
Mynheer, I may say that he's a cleve