FullReads

As they walked home he told his sisters about the various religious services he had seen abroad. They were curious to hear about them, under a sort of protest, for they disapproved of every form of worship but their own.

“The music in some of the cathedrals is very beautiful,” said Peter Paul. “And the choristers in their gowns, singing as they come, always affect me. No doubt only some are devout at heart, and others careless–which is also the case with the congregation–but outward reverence is, at the lowest, an acknowledgment of what we owe, and for my own part it helps me. Those white figures are not angels I know; but they make one think of them, and I try to be worthier of singing God’s praises with them.”

There was a little pause, and Leena’s beautiful eyes were full of reflections.

Presently she said, “Who washes all the white gowns?”

“I really don’t know,” said Peter Paul.

“I fancy they don’t bleach anywhere as they do in Holland,” she continued. “Indeed, Brother, I doubt if Dutchwomen are what they were. No one bleaches as Mother did. Mother bleached beautifully.”

“Yes, she bleached beautifully,” said Anna.

Peter Paul was only to be three weeks at home before he sailed again; but when ten days were over, he began to think the rest of the time would never come to an end. And this was from no want of love for his sisters, or of respect for their friends. One cannot help having an irritable brain, which rides an idea to the moon and home again, without stirrups, whilst some folks are getting the harness of words on to its back. There had been hours in his youth when all the unsolved riddles, the untasted joys, the great possibilities of even a common existence like his, so pressed upon him, that the shortness of the longest life of man seemed the most pitiable thing about it. But when he took tea with Vrow Schmidt and her daughters, and supper-time would not come, Peter Paul thought of the penance of the Wandering Jew, and felt very sorry for him.

The sisters would have been glad if Peter Paul would have given up the sea and settled down with them. Leena had a plan of her own for it. She wanted him to marry Vrow Schmidt’s niece, who had a farm.

“But I am afraid you do not care for young ladies?” said she.

Peter Paul got red.

“Vrow Schmidt’s niece is a very nice young lady,” said he.

He was not thinking of Vrow Schmidt’s niece, he was thinking of something else–something for which he would have liked a little sympathy; but he doubted whether Leena could give it to him. Indeed, to cure heartache is Godfather Time’s business, and even he is not invariably successful. It was probably a sharp twinge that made Peter Paul say, “Have you never wondered that when one’s life is so very short, one can manage to get so much pain into it?”

Leena dropped her work and looked up. “You don’t say so?” said she. “Dear Brother, is it rheumatism? I’m sure it must be a dreadful risk being out on the masts in the night air, without a roof over your head. But do you wear flannel, Peter Paul? Mother was very much troubled with rheumatism latterly. She thought it was the dews at milking time, and she always wore flannel.”

“Yes, dear, Mother always wore flannel,” said Anna.

Peter Paul satisfied them on this head. He wore flannel, red flannel too, which has virtues of its own.

Leena was more anxious than ever that he should marry Vrow Schmidt’s niece, and be taken good care of.

But it was not to be: Peter Paul went back to his ship and into the wide world again.

Uncle Jacob would have given him an off-set of his new tulip–a real novelty, and named–if he had had any place to plant it in.