ke. Beside them was a pot of
coffee. To be sure, it was cold now; but--well, Walter acted quickly
"according to his convictions."

Other thoughts now forced themselves on his mind. The "House of
Pieterse" appeared to his mind's eye as a menacing waterspout. In
the face of this danger difficult questions that had been clamoring
for answer had to be forgotten.

To go home? For heaven's sake, no!

His mother, Stoffel, his sisters--all had turned into Macbethan
witches. In his imagination, even Leentje had deserted him and was
asking him to beg forgiveness for his shameful behavior. He thought
of the prodigal son; though he knew that no calf, fat or otherwise,
would be slaughtered on his return.

Sakkerloot! I haven't done anything wrong; I haven't squandered
anything--not a doit of my inheritance! Have I allowed the wine to
run out? Not a drop!

But something must have been the matter; for--he did not dare to
go home.

Have I had any pleasure? Have I enjoyed any feast with four young
ladies? No! Have I allowed hounds to run around loose in the
banquet-hall? Have I had any negro servant to hold my horse?

There he took his stand. And he stayed there. Of camels and girls and
wine he felt that he was innocent; but himself, and his adventures
of the night, he was unable further to explain.

"I wish I were a crumb of bread," he sighed, as he stuck one into
his mouth, "then I would know where I belong."

Doubtless the first crumb of bread that was ever envied by a ruler.

Go to America?

Yes, if he only had those hundred florins that Mr. Motto had relieved
him of. Of course that worthy gentleman was now living like a prince
on the money. At least, Juffrouw Pieterse had said as much. But,
even if he had the money, he could not go away and leave Mrs. Claus's
house to the mercy of stray thieves and robbers. In a way, hadn't he
on yesterday evening taken the field against robbers?

Besides, he had no cap. There was nothing in sight that looked like
a hat. Yes--there hung a North Holland cap!

Femke? America?

CHAPTER XXX

While Walter was looking at Femke's cap and revolving other plans of
escape, the door opened and Kaatje, the girl from Holsma's, walked
in. Not recognizing her, Walter did not understand her when she said
that Femke had sent her to ask how he was. He looked at the messenger
searchingly; then he asked:

"Are you trying to make a fool of me?"

He had puzzled over recent events till eve