r called him back? "What in the devil have you got to do with
that? Your work is here in the store. You attend to your own business
now, and don't mix yourself in other people's brawls. That's the
main thing!"

As a rule of conduct, this was not just what Walter was used to in
his novels.

Despite such interruptions he continued his reading. He was almost
ready to begin on the last section of books, when he came to the
store one morning and found everything locked up and under seal.

The worthy Mr. Motto, it seems, had gone to America, as a sailor;
and doubtless that was the "main thing." The unfortunate owner of the
two snuff-vases had a big law suit over them. The point was whether
they were a part of the assets, or not.

On the Zeedyk at Amsterdam such processes must be tried according
to Roman law; but as the Romans did not use snuff there is nothing
said about "Rappee" in the Roman laws. The writer doesn't know how
the matter finally turned out. It is to be hoped that everybody got
what was coming to him.

Juffrouw Pieterse, however, did not recover her hundred florins; and,
as usual, she groaned: "There's always trouble with this boy."

Walter couldn't help her. He had his own troubles: he had been cruelly
interrupted in his reading. Of course the mysterious parentage of
the young robber was perfectly clear to him; but still one likes to
see whether one has guessed correctly, or not.

CHAPTER XXIII

"Do you think stivers grow on my back?" asked the mother the next
day. "You still don't earn a doit! Do you have to buy tobacco for
old soldiers?"

Walter had nothing to say. Recently his mother had given him a shilling
to give to Holsma's maid. Walter neglected to do this, and spent one
stiver of the money on snuff for an old soldier.

The mother continued her tirade, making use of the word "prodigue,"
prodigal.

"No, mother," said Stoffel, "that isn't it. He's behind in
everything. He doesn't know yet how to handle money, that's it!"

"Yes. He doesn't know how to handle money! All the other children at
his age--when they have a stiver they either save it or buy themselves
something. And he--what does he do? He goes and gives it away! Boy,
boy, will you never learn any sense?"

Walter was cut to the quick by the accusation of wastefulness and
prodigality. In his eyes a prodigal was somebody, a man! "Prodigue,
prodigue," he murmured. He knew the word.

In one of the bedrooms hung a series of