the people were leaving and she had to go with them: it was finished! It
had all been so matter-of-fact, just like the communion-practice of
yesterday, when she had merely swallowed a morsel of bread. Her heart
beat in perplexity and she feared that she had made an unworthy
communion.

The wind blew under her veil, which flew up in the air behind her. She
was so pure, so unspotted in all that white; and, cudgel her brains as
she would, she could not remember any fault or sin which she had omitted
to confess. Though Our Lord had not spoken to her, He had been there all
the same and she had not heard Him because of all that was happening
around her. She ought to have been alone there, in a silent church. Even
here, outside, by the trees, would have been better.

The wives were asked in to coffee and they stood and waited for Horieneke
at the garden-gate. Indoors everything was anyhow: Fonske was going about
in his shirt, Bertje had one leg in his breeches and Dolfke sat on the
floor, playing with Trientje. Father had made coffee and stood with the
bottles and glasses ready, looking dumbfounded at his child, now that he
saw her for the first time in her white clothes. The boys crowded round
shyly; they no longer knew their sister in this great lady; they kept
hold of one another shyly, with their fingers in their mouths; they were
unable to speak a word. Mother threw off her cloak and began cutting
currant-bread and butter. Horieneke was made to take off her veil and
gloves and a towel was fastened under her chin. The wives and youngsters
sat down. First a drop to each; all drank to the health of the little
first-communicant; they touched glasses. Father poured out and Horieneke
had to drink too: she put the stuff to her lips, pulled a wry face and
pushed the glass away. The boys dipped and soaked the bread in their
coffee; and the wives started talking about their young days and about