When Mother Van Hove returned from the pasture, fifteen minutes later,
her orders had all been carried out. Pier was in the pasture, the hens
were shut up for the night, and the pig, which had been squealing with
hunger, was row grunting with satisfaction over her evening meal; Fidel
was gnawing a bone, and Father Van Hove was already washing his hands
at the pump, beside the kitchen door.
"You are all good children," said the mother as she set down her
brimming pail and took her turn at the wash-basin and the soap. "Jan
and Marie, have you washed your hands?"
"I have," called Marie from the kitchen, "and supper is ready and the
table set."
"I washed my hands in the canal this morning," pleaded Jan. "Won't that
do?"
"You ate your lunch this noon, too," answered his mother promptly.
"Won't that do? Why do you need to eat again when you have already
eaten twice today?"
"Because I am hungry again," answered Jan.
"Well, you are also dirty again," said his mother, as she put the soap
in his hands and wiped her own on the clean towel which Marie handed
her from the door. She cleaned her wooden shoes on the bundle of straw
which lay for the purpose beside the kitchen door; then she went inside
and took her place opposite Father Van Hove at the little round oaken
table by the window.
Marie was already in her chair, and in a moment Jan joined them with a
beaming smile and a face which, though clean in the middle, showed a
gray border from ear to ear.
"If you don't believe I'm clean, look at the towel!" he said, holding
it up.
"Oh, my heart!" cried his mother, throwing up her hands. "I declare
there's but one creature in all God's world that cares nothing for
cleanliness! Even a pig has some manners if given half a chance, but
boys!" She seized the grimy towel and held it up despairingly for
Father Van Hove to see. "He's just wet his face and wiped all the dirt
off on the towel. The Devil himself is not more afraid of holy water
than Jan Van Hove is of water of any kind!" she cried.
"Go and wash yourself properly, Janke," said his father sternly, and
Jan disappeared through the kitchen door. Sounds of vigorous pumping
and splashing without were heard in the kitchen, and when Jan appeared
once more, he was allowed to take his place at the supper-table with
the family.
Father Van Hove bowed his head, and the Twins and their mother made the
sign of the cross with him, as he began their grace before meat. "In
the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, Amen,"
prayed Father Van Hove. "Hail, Mary, full of Grace." Then, as the
prayer continued, the mother and children with folded hands and bowed
heads joined in the petition: "Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us
sinners now and in the hour of our death, Amen." A clatter of spoons
followed the grace, and Mother Van Hove's good buttermilk pap was not
long in disappearing down their four hungry throats.
The long day in the open air had made the children so sleepy they could
scarcely keep their eyes open through the meal. "Come, my children,"
said their mother briskly, as she rose from the table, "pop into bed,
both of you, as fast as you can go. You are already half asleep!
Father, you help them with their buttons, and hear them say their
prayers, while I wash up these dishes and take care of the milk." She
took a candle from the chimney-piece as she spoke, and started down
cellar with the skimmer. When she came back into the kitchen once more,
the children were safely tucked in bed, and her husband was seated by
the kitchen door with his chair tipped back against the wall, smoking
his evening pipe. Mother Van Hove cleared the table, washed the dishes,
and brushed the crumbs from the tiled floor. Then she spread the white
sand once more under the table and in a wide border around the edge of
the room, and hung the brush outside the kitchen door.
Father Van Hove smoked in silence as she moved about the room. At last
he said to her, "Leonie, did you hear what our neighbor Maes said
to-night as we were talking in the road?"
"No," said his wife, "I was hurrying home to get supper."
"Maes said there are rumors of a German army on our frontier," said
Father Van Hove.
His wife paused in front of him with her hands on her hips. "Who
brought that story to town?" she demanded.
"Jules Verhulst," answered her husband.
"Jules Verhulst!" sniffed Mother Van Hove with disdain. "He knows more
things that aren't so than any man in this village. I wouldn't believe
anything on his say-so! Besides, the whole world knows that all the
Powers have agreed that Belgium shall be neutral ground, and have bound
themselves solemnly to protect that neutrality. I learned that in
school, and so did you."
"Yes," sighed Father Van Hove. "I learned it too, and surely no nation
can have anything against us! We have given no one cause for complaint
that I know of."
"It's nonsense," said his wife with decision. "Belgium is safe enough
so far as that goes, but one certainly has to work hard here just to
make ends meet and get food for all the hungry mouths! They say it is
different in America; there you work less and get more, and are farther
away from meddlesome neighboring countries besides. I sometimes wish we
had gone there with my sister. She and her husband started with no more
than we have, and now they are rich--at least they were when I last
heard from them; but that was a long time ago," she finished.
"Well," said Father Van Hove, as he stood up and knocked the ashes from
his pipe, "it may be that they have more money and less work, but I've
lived here in this spot ever since I was born, and my father before me.
Somehow I feel I could never take root in any other soil. I'm content
with things as they are."
"So am I, for the matter of that," said Mother Van Hove cheerfully, as
she put Fidel outside and shut the door for the night. Then, taking the
candle from the chimney-piece once more, she led the way to the inner
room, where the twins were already soundly sleeping.