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his face ; he began to whistle again and walked
slowly away.
Every evening when he walked past, she popped
her head out of the window for a moment. And on
Saturday evening he accompanied her to Kerk-
straat, and afterwards took her home. It was
wonderful how easily he could talk to her. Before
they had been out together four times, she knew
everything about him, how all his life he had had to
fight against his wickedness and perpetually had to
struggle to keep straight, how he had often thought
that the best thing would be to make an end of it.
But now he felt sure that everything would be all
right, he felt a different person, better and stronger.
He often said that it was a relief to him to be able
to tell her everything, for he had never had a friend
whom he trusted like her, and he had never been
able to be completely straightforward with his uncle.
Wijntje would listen, her big eyes lowered, and
gently press his arm. They were sitting in the
twilight on a bench near the oak-leaves, when she
said that he was honester than he himself realised,
because, after all, he was always struggling with him-
self, and she didn't do that, although she, too, was
very wicked. Yes, she said, if her parents approved
she would like to be always with a boy like him.
He watched all his actions more carefully than
ever, because he wouldn't have liked ever to feel
ashamed in front of Wijntje. And he noticed more