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books. Uncle Gerbrand didn't speak to him.
Uncle Frans sometimes looked at him questioningly
but he said nothing. Only after supper did he go
out and then, so as not to meet any of the boys, he
went to the quietest spots, on the other side of the
Spaarne and on the outskirts of the town. He
found it peaceful there, too, in the narrow streets,
where there were but few people, and where, behind
windows, the gleam of the flames under the coffee-
pots could be seen. The evening air was fresh at
this time, and there was still a pale light in the sky.
Then he heard the Damiaatjes in the distance. For
something to do he counted the number of times they
rang, he listened to the difference in the bells, some
loud and firm, some soft, dying.
One evening when he was walking thus, counting the
chimes, passing through Begijnesteeg, he saw Jansje
outside the door of her home, the smallest house in
the lane. ' Not gone to the .Fair ? ' she asked.
And she took his hand and led him in to have a cup
of coffee; the pot stood over the burner, whence little
patches of light shone into the darkness of the room.
She sat opposite him, but all he could see was some
straggly white hair under her cap. No one was
passing along the lane, and they were silent. But
then Jansje asked after his uncle in Hoorn, if he had
grown old. e He never did any good,' she said in a
gentle voice. Floris found it difficult to answer, but
she grasped that he had not had a good reception.