ve just waited so patiently. One of the
slaves clasps his hands and looks toward heaven--because he's glad,
of course, that little Walter has come back.

He? The real Walter? Returned home, and friendly received in his high
rank of a "has-been" and "recovered" prodigal? Oh, no!

And that fatted calf! In direct opposition to the custom that was
familiar to Walter! It worried the boy. Juffrouw Pieterse never
slaughtered anything. She ran a weekly account with Keesje's father;
and even a roast was a rarity.

There was no prospect of a fatted calf, whether he became a prodigal
or not. But that didn't keep the rank of a prodigal from being higher
than that of a stupid boy who didn't know how to handle money.

He was encouraged to think that he was indebted to his friendly
enemy, Juffrouw Laps, for something. She always cited the Bible,
and spoke continually of feeding swine. Walter wanted to answer:
"That's very nice, Juffrouw Laps, but can't it be sheep this time?"

He knew very well that she had never had any passion for carding,
and consequently was not interested in that blue muffler, which would
be so becoming to Femke's favorite sheep.

But she assured him that he was a prodigal; and that was enough.

"That's what I've always said!" replied Juffrouw Pieterse. "What
does he do but squander his mother's money? If that man wants snuff,
let him buy it. The king pays him. I have to work too hard for my
money. Don't I, Stoffel?"

"Yes, mother; but it's only childishness in Walter!"

"Childishness! That's what I call it."

"No it isn't!" cried the pious Laps. "He's on the straight road to
the trough of Luke 15. He will eat husks! Do you think the Master
doesn't carry out his parables? Just send him to me. The pastors are
to blame for it. They don't explain the Bible. Send him to me."

"If I only knew how he gets such things into his head!"

"You don't know? It's arrogance!"

She spoke the truth.

"Arrogance, Arrogance pure and simple--just as it was in Belshazzar,
or Sennacherib, or Nebuchadnezzar."

How thankful Walter was! If at this moment he had had a letter to
write--preferably to Femke--he would have boasted of being as wicked
as three old kings put together.

"Arrogance!" repeated Juffrouw Laps. "Gold on top, iron in the middle,
and feet of clay. The Master will overthrow him. Send him to me."

This invitation to turn over the royal villain to her for religious
instruction was repeated so often tha