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. Seated upon the bed-tassel, astride the handle, was his old friend Wistik.