The Quest

It sounded to him like a blessed tidings – like the utterance of mercy to one condemned.

"That is Markus!" he cried, with heightened color and shining eyes.

Aunt Seréna went to the door and opened it. There, bowed over his work, stood Markus. Again, he was treading the wheel of the old cart, the one with the footboard. As before, the water was dripping from his old cap, down upon his faded raincoat. His face was sad, and there were deep lines about his mouth.

"Markus!" cried Johannes; and, springing forward, he threw his arms around him, and pressed his head caressingly against the wet clothing.

"For the love of Christ, Boy! What are you doing?" said Daatje. "What Romish freak is this?"

"Oh, Aunt Seréna!" cried Johannes. "May he not come indoors? He is so wet, and so tired! He is a good man – my best friend."

Daatje placed her arms akimbo, and stepped angrily in front of Aunt Seréna and the doorway.

"Now, I'll attend to that. The dear Lord preserve us! Such a dirty lout of a gypsy come into my clean marble hall! That's altogether too much!"

But Aunt Seréna, in that earnest tone which had always been a command for Daatje – admitting no oppositions – said: "Daatje, go back to the kitchen. I will settle this matter myself."

And turning toward Markus she asked: "Will you not come in and rest?"

Slowly straightening himself up, Markus replied: "I will, Madam." And he laid down his scissors, took off his cap, and walked in.

This time Daatje was disobedient, for she did not return to the kitchen, but remained, arms still akimbo, repeatedly shaking her head, surveying the intruder with horror – especially his feet, and the old coat which he hung upon the hat-rack. And, when Aunt Seréna actually let him out of the vestibule into the room itself, she tarried behind the unclosed door, anxiously listening.

Within the room a dead stillness ensued. The dominie's face took on an expression of utter amazement, while he lifted his eyebrows very high, and thrust out his pursed-up lips. Pietekoo tittered in her embarrassment, and then hid her face in her hands. The others looked, now with a puzzled mien at Markus, then in doubtful expectation at Aunt Seréna, with distrust at Johannes, with very expressive glances at one another, and finally, with pretended absorption in their hand-work. The silence was still unbroken.

"Will you take something?" asked Aunt Seréna.

"Yes, Madam, a bit of bread," said Markus, in his calm, gentle voice.

"Would you not rather have a glass of wine, and some cake?"

"No, Madam, if you will excuse me; I prefer common bread."

The dominie thought it time to intervene. He was stung by the censure conveyed in Markus' refusal.

"The Scripture teaches, my friend, that we should eat what is set before us, when we are guests."

"Do you take me for a theologian – or for an apostle?" asked Markus.

"He has the gift of gab," said Mevrouw Slot, in her coarse voice.

In those pure accents which held Johannes breathlessly attentive, Markus continued: "I will even sit at table with witches, but not necessarily eat of their food."

"Dear me! Dear me!" said the dominie, and the ladies cried: "Good gracious!" and other exclamations of disapproval and indignation. "Be a little less uncivil, friend; you are not with your own kind here."

Markus continued, in a calm, friendly tone: "Theologians, however, thank God for many a rude truth, and know, also, how to take parables. Even when with cannibals, an apostle need not eat human flesh."

Widow Slot, who alone of all in the circle seemed to have retained her coolness, here interposed: "We have not improved, yet."

Markus turned toward her and said with great earnestness:

"Who are they who have their portion? Are not the poorest ones they who drink wine and eat cake, and yet produce not even bread? Every day they sink deeper into debt. I prefer to eat honest food."

"You mistake, my man! I have no debts!" cried Aunt Seréna, with trembling lips.

"But, Aunt Seréna, he does not mean that," said Johannes, as much moved as herself.

"Children must be silent, here!" cried the dominie, angrily.

"If the children are silent here, who is there to speak sense?" continued Markus. And then, with a gentle, penetrating voice, he addressed Aunt Seréna. "Whoever will not listen to children, the Father will not understand. I spoke in metaphor – in a simple way, for simple people. The whole world is a metaphor, and not a simple one. If we do not yet understand such a simple metaphor, then the world must indeed remain a sad riddle."

The dominie held his peace, and smoked fiercely; but Aunt Seréna thought it over, looking in front of her, and said; "All understanding comes through the light of grace."

Markus nodded, kindly. "Yes," said he, "for those who unbolt the shutters and throw open the windows. And the sun will shine even through little windows."

Then he ceased speaking and ate his bread. No one said anything more, unless in a whisper to his next neighbor.

When Markus had eaten he stood up and said: "Thank you. Good night!"

Johannes also stood up, and said anxiously: "Markus, You are not going away?"

"Yes, Johannes. Good-by till we meet again!"

Then he passed silently out of the door, took his cap and coat, and was let out by Daatje. Johannes heard her ask: "How much did you get?" And when Markus said simply: "Twopence," he felt a twinge at his heart. Indoors, no one spoke so long as the creaking of the cart-wheel could be heard. Then the dominie, in a loud tone, and with assumed lightness, said:

"That was a venturesome deed, dear Madam. You ought to be more cautious in future with that altogether too-largely developed philanthropy of yours. That man is known as a very dangerous individual."

Exclamations of astonishment and alarm followed this, and different ladies cried: "Goodness!" "It's a sin!" "Do you know him?"

"Alas, indeed I do!" averred the dominie, with a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders. "He is a well-known person – one of those fanatics who incite the people and poison their natures: a nihilist."

"A nihilist!" echoed the ladies, frightened and horrified. Poor Johannes sat listening to Dominie Kraalboom with painful interest. The name "nihilist" did not make him afraid, but such notoriety was a bitter disappointment. It was as if thereby all the mysterious superiority of his beloved friend had been leveled. Had it, then, all been a fraud?

When the circle had taken their leave, and Aunt Seréna was going to bed, he saw Daatje very carefully counting the silver spoons!

IX

"Listen, Juffrouw," said Daatje, the following morning, when all was ready for going to church, "for forty years I have served you faithfully and well; but I just want to say to you, that if you bring any more heathen or Hottentots into the house – into the parlor, rather – in the future, I will leave in a jiffy, as sure as fate!"

"Will you, Daatje?" said Aunt Seréna, drily, asking for her prayer-book. Johannes sat stiffly in his Sunday collar, struggling to draw his thread gloves smoothly over his finger-tips. Then, under two umbrellas, the three set out for church.

Already Dominie Kraalboom was sitting in the chancel, busily stroking his freshly shaven cheeks, and thoughtfully watching the coming in of his flock. Not one of the circle was missing. The clothing of the congregation, wet with rain, gave out a peculiar odor; chairs were noisily shoved about over the flat, blue tombstones, while above the sound of shuffling feet and of slamming doors the deep throbbing of the organ was heard.

The dominie soon caught sight of Johannes; and the little man had cause to feel conceited by reason of all the attention paid him. Johannes said to himself that it certainly must be his own imagining (for what could such a great man have to do with a little boy?) but it appeared as if the entire sermon was written for, and especially aimed at, Johannes.

The text was: "Who shall understand his errors? Cleanse thou me from secret faults."

The dominie dwelt upon the sin of arrogance, and the numbers of young people who were wrecked through it ere they rightly understood what it was, and said that they ought to desire to be cleansed from it.