bout the same
thing--threw into the water were carried down to the pond, where
the logs lay that were to be sawed up by the "Eagle" and the "Early
Hour." These were the names of the sawmills that for some weeks had
been the witnesses of Walter's daydreams.

Glorioso was gone, and could not be replaced; but on those afternoons
when he was free Walter returned involuntarily to the spot where he had
had his first glimpse of the world of romance. How rough and crude the
colors in that first picture! Perhaps it was the very roughness of the
colors that attracted him and changed him, till he could not conceive
how he had ever found enjoyment in the little cakes on the corner.

A peculiar prospective had opened up before him. He dreamed of things
that he could not name; but they made him bitterly dissatisfied with
his present condition. He was anxious to do everything prescribed
to get to Heaven; but he thought it would be much easier to pray in
such a cave with wax candles. And as for honoring his mother, a point
upon which she always laid great stress--why didn't she have a train
like the countess? Certainly he ought not to have sold the Bible;
and he wouldn't do it any more--he had vowed it; but then he ought
to have had a box filled with florins, and a feather in his cap,
just as it was in the book.

He was disgusted with his brother Stoffel, and his sisters, and
Juffrouw Laps, and the preacher and everything. He couldn't understand
why the whole family didn't go to Italy and form a respectable
robber-band. But Pennewip and Keesje shouldn't go; that was certain.

He wondered what had become of his verses. Every Wednesday such
pupils as had been well-behaved, and, for that reason, deemed worthy
to contest for the "laurel," handed in a poem written on some subject
suggested by the teacher. This time the subject assigned to Walter was
"Goodness," which probably had some reference to his former behavior,
and was a hint for the improvement of his moral character. But Walter
had already put goodness into rhyme so often, and found the subject so
dry and tedious and worn-out that he had taken the liberty of "singing"
something else. He selected the theme nearest his heart--robbers!

Like all authors he was greatly infatuated with his work. He was
convinced that the teacher, too, would see the excellencies of his poem
and forgive him for deviating from the path of goodness. The verses
would undoubtedly be sent to the mayor, an