way as if it were the lost
sinner. This pleased Walter immensely. None of the guests seemed to
notice such a small trifle, not even the waiters. This ought to have
happened just once in the Pieterse home--and even if it were only a
stein of beer!

The artist says to himself, Do you suppose I didn't foresee the
seductive influence of such a picture? The next one makes it all right!

Well, maybe so.

Third picture: Magnificent. How romantic this wilderness! Oh, to
sit there on that boulder and stare into the immeasurable depths of
the universe--alone!

To think, think, think!

No schoolmaster, no mother, brother, or anyone to say what he
must do with his heart, with his time, with his elbows, or with his
breeches! That's the way Walter saw it. The young man there didn't even
have on breeches; and he looked as if he wouldn't have been ashamed
to stretch himself out on his back, with his arms over his head, and
watch with wide-open eyes the passing of the moon and stars. Walter
asked himself what he would think of when he had founded such an
empire of solitude.

Hm! Femke could sit on the boulder with him. Prodigal son--oh,
sin divine with her! He was surprised that in the whole Bible there
was only one prodigal son. Of all sins this seemed to him the most
seductive.

And the desert was so--endurable. There were trees in it, which one
could climb, when one really got lost, or use to build a nice little
cabin--for Femke, of course.

The prodigal in the picture didn't seem to have thought of all
that. Why wasn't the Juffrouw in green silk with him? She will come
soon, Walter said to himself. Perhaps she's not quite through with
her prodigality. If she would only hurry up and come! He longs for
her. But that is the only annoyance that a genuine prodigal takes
with him from the profane world into that capital wilderness.

It must be remarked in passing, however, that the hogs with which
that picture was equipped looked ugly. The pious artist had made them
shield-bearers of sin, and had supplied their physiognomies with all
kinds of horrible features. And, too, the trough looked dirty.

If it happens to me, said Walter, I'll take sheep with me; and Femke
can card the wool.

The artist ought to admit that even this third picture is inadequate
to inspire a proper disgust for prodigality.

And the fourth one? No better.

The old gentleman is excessively friendly. We are again in the
colonnade, where the camels ha