to examine it to-morrow and make certain of himself
and his adventures?

If he had been accustomed to fine bedlinen at home, he might now
have taken an especial pleasure in Mrs. Claus's extremely rough
homemade linen. Hm! He had always dreamed of princesses sleeping on
embroidered silk, among diamonds and pearls! He did not yet know that
it is possible to conceive royal and imperial highnesses otherwise
at night, and that perhaps a princess might sometimes be willing to
tousle Femke's bed.

He looked about the room. There was another small bed, where, he
supposed, Femke's mother slept. Across the room was the chimney. Here
were small shelves decorated with works of art. Walter noticed the
"resurrection of Lazarus." Four chairs were in the room. One was
standing by his bed, and on it his clothes were carefully arranged.

In the middle of the room stood a table; and the drawer was partly
open. It was too full. Father Jansen's woolen socks were peeping
out while they waited for repairs. Walter wondered if those other
objectionable articles were there too.

On the wall, at the head of his bed, hung a crucifix, with a small
basin of holy water. With that she crosses herself, he thought. He
stuck his hand into it: it was dry. The whole arrangement was fastened
to an embroidered piece of cardboard, and, when he touched it,
something fell from behind it.

It looked like a large-sized letter. Walter picked it up and looked for
the address. He felt that it must be a letter from Femke to him. Then
he reproached himself, and, trembling with emotion, restored the piece
of paper to its place. He had held it up to the light: it was the
Ophelia that he had presented her after his illness! She had treasured
the picture together with the most sacred thing she possessed.

He was wide awake now; but who wouldn't wake up on receiving a letter
from Heaven?

He dressed himself and went into the other room, where he supposed
Mrs. Claus and Sietske were. Not a soul was to be seen. For the first
time it occurred to him that after those few words he had heard nothing
more. The girl had surely visited her "cousin" and then gone away.

But Mrs. Claus herself? Perhaps she, too, had gone away. This was
the case; however, she had not gone out without leaving behind her
a peculiar sign of her uncouth character and lack of refinement. On
a small table, before which stood an inviting chair, lay two pieces
of bread and butter of her standard ma