heavy, for his father did not utter a word, and gazed into vacancy as
gravely and anxiously as at the time when misery entered the beleagured
city.

The boy's young step-mother sat opposite her husband, and often glanced
at Peter Van der Werff's grave face to win a loving glance from him.

Whenever she did so in vain, she pushed her soft, golden hair back from
her forehead, raised her beautiful head higher, or bit her lips and gazed
silently into her plate.

In reply to Aunt Barbara's questions: "What happened at the council? Has
the money for the new bell been collected? Will Jacob Van Sloten rent
you the meadow?" he made curt, evasive replies.

The steadfast man, who sat so silently with frowning brow among his
family, sometimes attacking the viands on his plate, then leaving them
untouched, did not look like one who yields to idle whims.

All present, even the men and maid-servants, were still devoting
themselves to the food, when the master of the house rose, and pressing
both hands over the back of his head, which was very prominently
developed, exclaimed groaning:

"I can hold out no longer. Do you give thanks, Maria. Go to the town-
hall, Janche, and ask if no messenger has yet arrived."

The man-servant wiped his mouth and instantly obeyed. He was a tall,
broad-shouldered Frieselander, but only reached to his master's forehead.