Walter Pieterse Part 5

Now, once more alone. Good!

Now, together again! Karre, karre, kra, kra--stretch your arms out and take me with you. Will you? Put your hat on, Eagle; how the ribbons fly.--Who are you? Warre, warre, ware, wan--I can't help it; it was the duck. Tell me what your name is. f.a.n.n.y, f.a.n.n.y, f.a.n.n.y, fan---- Is your name fan? And you, Morning Hour, what is your name? Ceny, ceny, ceny, ce. What kind of a name is Ce? Now together--sing a song together:

f.a.n.n.y, f.a.n.n.y, f.a.n.n.y, fan-- Ceny, ceny, ceny, ce-- f.a.n.n.y, ceny, f.a.n.n.y, ceny, f.a.n.n.y, ceny, fan--cy.

Fancy--what do you mean by that? Is that the name of both of you? And what is it? Has it wings?

"Morning Hour" and "Eagle" had fused into something that had wings and was called fancy.

Fancy lifted Walter up and bore him away.

When she brought him back to the bridge again it had already been dark for a long time. He shook himself as if he were wet, rubbed his eyes and started home. We shall see later what awaited him there; but first we must go back a few hours. I hope the reader will not disdain an invitation to Juffrouw Pieterse's. Remember that her husband never made anything, but bought everything ready-made in Paris.

In pa.s.sing by I should like to make Master Pennewip a short visit.

CHAPTER VII

School was out; and the seats looked as if the pupils had just left the tediousness of it all lying there. The map of Europe looked down peevishly on the heap of writing-pads. There lay the mutilated and well-worn goose-quills, which since time immemorial have opened up the gates of learning. True, the black-board vaunted itself with the heavy results of the last lesson in "fractions"; but the school was no more. The spirit had fled: It was a corpse.

Yes, the "Geist" had gone out with the children; for the reader will see in a moment that they carried about with them a tremendous amount of that article.

We already know that this was the great day when Pennewip was to criticise the poetical effusions of his young geniuses. There he sat, his restless wig sharing all the poetical feelings and emotions--and motions--of its owner. We will just look over his shoulder and read with him those inestimable treasures of poetic art; and perhaps we too shall be moved to emotion.

Wig: In the middle, resting quietly.

Lucas de Bryer: "Our Native Land."

Cake and wine and native land, Out in the moonlight I take my stand; Our native land and cake and wine, And I hope the moon will s.h.i.+ne; Five fingers have I on my hand, All to honor our native land.

"Melodious," said the teacher, "very melodious; and very profound. Cake and wine, with our native land as a climax."

Wig: On the right side.

Lizzie Webbelar: "My Father's Vocation."

The cat is sly, I know; My father is a dealer in Po- Tatoes and onions.

"Original, immediate! But I don't like the way she cuts her potatoes in twain."

Wig: On the left side.

Jeanette Rust: "The Weather-c.o.c.k."

He stands on the chimney since long ago, And shows the wind which way to blow.

"Smooth, but not quite correct, if examined closely--but I'll let it pa.s.s as poetic license."

Wig: Down in front.

Leendert Snelleman: "Lent."

In Lent it is always nice, My brother's birth-day is in May, He says his feet need warming, So that Lent we must be praising, And then we're going to celebrate, Easter brings eggs and a holiday.

"It's too bad that he's so careless with his rhymes. His imagination is extraordinary. Very original."

Wig: Down on his neck.

Keesje, the Butcher's Boy: "In Praise of the Teacher."

My father has slaughtered many a steer, But Master Pennewip is still living, I hear; Some are lean, and some are well-fed, He has slipped his wig to the side of his head.

The wig actually went to the side of his head.

"Well, this is curious. I hardly know what to say about it."

The wig slipped to the other side.

"What's the connection between me and steers?"

The wig protested vigorously against any implication of relations.h.i.+p with steers.

"H--mm! Can it be that this is what our new-fangled writers call humour?"

The wig sank down to his eyebrows, which signified doubt.

"I will call up the boy and----"

The wig pa.s.sed again to the zenith, to express its satisfaction with the teacher's determination to interview the butcher's boy.

Lucas de Wilde: "Religion."