The next day it still rained, but a good deal harder. There was a
sudden drop in the temperature, too, such as one often finds in an
English summer. The Van Heigens did not have a fire on that account,
their stoves always kept a four months' sabbath; the advent of a
snow-storm in July would not have been allowed to break it. Mijnheer's
cold was decidedly worse; towards evening it grew very bad. He came in
early from the office, and sat and shivered in the sitting-room with
Julia and his wife, who was continuing the crochet unaided, and so
laying up much future work for Denah. At last it was considered dark
enough for the lamp to be lighted. Julia got up and lit it, and drew
the blind, shutting out the grey sheet of the canal and the slanting
rain.

"Dear me," Mevrouw said once again, "how bad the rain must be for
Joost!"

Julia agreed, but reminded her--also once again--that it was possibly
not raining in Germany.

Mijnheer looked up from his paper to remark that the weather was very
bad for the crops.

"It is bad for every one," his wife rejoined; "but worse of all for
you. You should be in bed. Indeed, it is not fit that you should be
up; the house is like a cellar this evening."

Mijnheer did not suggest the remedy of a fire; he, too, shared the
belief that stoves should not be lighted before the appointed time; he
only protested at the idea of bed. "Pooh!" he said. "Make myself an
invalid with Joost away! Will you go and nurse my nose, and put