The Quest

This awakened irreverent thoughts in Johannes' mind. When the Bible-reading was over, he was suddenly moved to make a remark.

"Aunt Seréna," said he, conscious of a rising color, and feeling rather giddy on account of his boldness, "is it only because the Lord is your Shepherd that you do not lack for anything?"

But he had made a bad break.

Aunt Seréna's face took on a severe expression, and adjusting her spectacles somewhat nervously, she said: "I willingly admit, dear Johannes, that in many respects I have been blessed beyond my deserts; but ought not you to know – you who had such a good and well-informed father – that it is very unbecoming in young people to pass judgment, thoughtlessly, upon the lives of older ones, when they know nothing either of their trials or of their blessings?"

Johannes sat there, deeply abashed, suddenly finding himself to be a silly, saucy boy.

But Daatje stood up, and in a manner peculiarly her own – bending a little, arms akimbo – said, with great emphasis: "I'll tell you what, mistress! you're too good. He ought to have a spanking – on the bare spanking place, too!" And forthwith she went to the kitchen.

VI

There were regularly recurring changes in Aunt Seréna's life. In the first place, the going to church. That was the great event of the week; and the weekly list of services and of the officiating clergymen was devoutly discussed. Then the lace cap, with its silk strings, was exchanged for a bonnet with a gauze veil; and Daatje was careful to have the church books, mantle, and gloves ready, in good reason. Nearly always Daatje went also; if not, then the sermon was repeated to her in detail.

Johannes accompanied his aunt with docility, and tried, not without a measure of success, to appreciate the discourse.

The visits of Minister Kraalboom were not less important. Johannes saw, with amazement, that his aunt, at other times so stately and estimable, now almost humbled herself in reverent and submissive admiration. She treated this man, in whom Johannes could see no more than a common, kindly gentleman, with a head of curling grey hair, and with round, smoothly shaven cheeks, as if he belonged to a higher order of beings; and the adored one accepted her homage with candid readiness. The most delicious things the aunt had, in fine wines, cakes, and liqueurs, were set before him; and, as the minister was a great smoker, Daatje had a severe struggle with herself after every visit, between her respect for the servant of the Lord and her detestation of scattered ashes, stumps of cigars, and tobacco-smelling curtains.

Once a week there was a "Krans," or sewing circle, and then came Aunt Seréna's lady friends. They were more or less advanced in years, but all of them very unprepossessing women, among whom Aunt Seréna, with her erect figure and fine, pale face, made a very good appearance; and she was clearly regarded as a leader. Puff-cakes were offered, and warm wine or "milk-tea" was poured. The aim of the gatherings was charitable. Talking busily, the friends made a great many utterly useless, and, for the most part, tasteless, articles: patchwork quilts, anti-macassars, pin-cushions, flower-pot covers, picture frames of dried grasses, and all that sort of thing. Then a lottery, or "tombola,"[9 - Lottery-Fair.] as it was called, was planned for. Every one had to dispose of tickets, and the proceeds were given, sometimes to a poor widow, sometimes to a hospital, but more often, however, to the cause of missions.

On such evenings Johannes sat, silent, in his corner, with one of the illustrated periodicals of which his aunt had a large chestful. He listened to the conversation, endeavoring to think it noble and amiable; and he looked, also, at the trifling fingers. No one interfered with him, and he drank his warm wine and ate his cake, content to be left in peace; for he felt attracted toward none of the flowers composing this human wreath.

But Aunt Seréna did not consider her duty accomplished in these ways alone. She went out from them to busy herself in parish calls on various households – rich as well as poor – wherever she thought she could do any good. It was a great satisfaction to Johannes when, at his request that he be allowed to go with her, she replied: "Certainly, dear boy; why not?"

Johannes accompanied her this first time under great excitement. Now he was going to be initiated into ways of doing and being good. This was a fine chance.

So they set out together, Johannes carrying a large satchel containing bags of rice, barley, sugar, and split peas. For the sick there were jars of smoked beef and a flask of wine.

They first went to see Vrouw Stok, who lived not far away, in French Lane. Vrouw Stok evidently counted upon such a visit, and she was extremely voluble. According to her statements, one would say that no nobler being dwelt upon earth than Aunt Seréna, and no nicer, more grateful, and contented creature than Vrouw Stok. And Dominie Kraalboom also was lavishly praised.

After that, they went to visit the sick, in reeking little rooms in dreary back streets. And everywhere they met with reiterations of gratitude and pleasure from the recipients, together with unanimous praising of Aunt Seréna, until Johannes several times felt the tears gather in his eyes. The barley and the split peas were left where they would be of use, as were also the wine and the jars of smoked beef.

Johannes and his aunt returned home very well pleased. Aunt Seréna was rejoiced over her willing and appreciative votary, and Johannes over this well-conducted experiment in philanthropy. If this were to be the way, all would be well. In a high state of enthusiasm he sped to the garden to dream away the quiet afternoon amid the richly laden raspberry-bushes.

"Aunt Seréna," said Johannes, at table that noon, "that poor boy in the back street, with the inflamed eyes and that ulcerated leg – is he a religious boy?"

"Yes, Johannes, so far as I know."

"Then is the Lord his Shepherd, too?"

"Yes, Johannes," said his aunt, more seriously now, having in mind his former remark. But Johannes spoke quite innocently, as if deep in his own thoughts.

"Why is it, then, that he lacks so much? He has never seen the dunes nor the ocean. He goes from his bed to his chair, and from his chair to his bed, and knows only that dirty room."

"The Lord knows what is good for us, Johannes. If he is pious, and remains so, sometime he will lack for nothing."

"You mean when he is dead?.. But, Aunt Seréna, if I am pious I shall go to heaven, too, shall I not?"

"Certainly, Johannes."

"But, Aunt Seréna, I have had a fine time in your home, with raspberries and roses, and delicious things to eat, and he has had nothing but pain and plain living. Yet the end is the same. That does not seem fair, does it, Aunt Seréna?"

"The Lord knows what is good for us, Johannes. The most severely tried are to Him the best beloved."

"Then, if it is not a blessing to have good things, we ought to long for trials and privations?"

"We should be resigned to what is given us," said Aunt Seréna, not quite at her ease.

"And yet be thankful only for all those delicious things? Although we know that trials are better?"

Johannes spoke seriously, without a thought of irony, and Aunt Seréna, glad to be able to close the conversation, replied:

"Yes, Johannes, always be thankful. Ask the dominie about it."

Dominie Kraalboom came in the evening, and, as Aunt Seréna repeated to him Johannes' questions, his face took on the very same scowl it always wore when he stood up in the pulpit; his wry mouth rolled the r's, and, with the emphasis of delightful certainty, he uttered the following:

"My dear boy, that which you, in your childlike simplicity, have asked, is – ah, indeed – ah, the great problem over which the pious in all ages have pondered and meditated – pondered and meditated. It behooves us to enjoy gratefully, and without questioning, what the good Lord, in His eternal mercy, is pleased to pour out upon us. We should, as much as lies in our power, relieve the afflictions that He allots to others, and at the same time teach the sufferers to be resigned to the inevitable. For He knows what we all have need of, and tempers the wind to the shorn lamb."

Then said Johannes: "So you, and Aunt Seréna, and I, have a good time now, because we have no need of all that misery? And that sick boy does need it? Is that it, Dominie?"

"Yes, my dear boy, that is it."

"And has Daatje, too, need of privations? Daatje said that she was converted as completely as you and Aunt Seréna were."

"Daatje is a good, pious soul, entirely satisfied with what the Lord has apportioned her."

"Yes, Dominie; but," said Johannes, his voice trembling with his feeling, "I am not converted yet, not the least bit. I am not at all good. Why, then, have I so much more given me than Daatje has? Daatje has only a small pen, up in the garret, while I have the big guest-room; she must do the scrubbing and eat in the kitchen, while I eat in the house and get many more dainties. And it is not the Lord who does that, but Aunt Seréna."

Dominie Kraalboom threw a sharp glance at Johannes, and drank in silence, from his goblet of green glass, the fragrant Rhine wine. Aunt Seréna looked, with a kind of suspense, at the dominie's mouth, expecting the forthcoming oracle to dissipate all uncertainty.

When the dominie spoke again, his voice was far less kindly. He said: "I believe, my young friend, that it was high time your aunt took you home here. Apparently, you have been exposed to very bad influences. Accustom yourself to the thought that older and wiser people know, better than yourself, what is good for you; and be thankful for the good things, without picking them to pieces. God has placed each one in his station, where he must be active for his own and his fellow-creatures' salvation."

With a sigh of contentment, Aunt Seréna took up her embroidery again. Johannes was frightened at the word "picking," which brought to mind an old enemy – Pluizer. Dominie Kraalboom hastened to light a fresh cigar, and to begin about the "tombola."

That night, in the great bed, Johannes lay awake a long while, uneasy and restless. His mind was clear and on the alert, and he was in a state of expectancy. Things were not going right, though. Something was the matter, but he knew not what. The furniture, in the still night-time, wore a hostile, almost threatening air. The call of the cuckoo spelled mischief.

About three or four o'clock, when the night-light had sputtered and gone out, he lay still wider awake. He was looking at the bed-cord, which, bigger and thicker than ordinary, was growing ominously visible in the first dim light.

Suddenly – as true as you live – he saw it move! A slight quiver – a spasmodic, serpentine undulation, like the tail of a nervous cat.

Then, very swiftly and without a rustle, he saw a small shadow drop down the bed-cord. Was it a mouse?

After that he heard a thin little voice:

"Johannes! Johannes!"

He knew that voice. He lifted up his head and took a good look.