played it twice consecutively. Suddenly he stopped once more:
"Oh, Gerdy, how dusty your piano is! . . . Does no one ever wipe the keys? . . . Where can I wash my hands?"
"Uncle dear, do go on playing!"
"And my fingers black with dust? No, look here, Keetje's pans may shine like silver and gold, but your piano is a sounding-board of dirt. Where can I wash my hands?"
"Here, at the tap."
She led him to the hall.
"Well, first find me a clean towel."
"The towel is clean, sir," said Truitje, who happened to be passing.
"No, I want a towel fresh from the wash, folded in nice, clean folds."
And it was great fun: Marietje ran hunting for Constance, to get the keys of the linen-press.
"So you've come to live here?" said Van der Welcke, who came down while Paul was washing his hands.
"Yes, I had a sudden, irresistible impulse to move to Driebergen. I was feeling a little lonely at the Hague," he confessed. "I am growing old and lonely. And it's cleaner in the country; the air is less foul, though I'm not lucky with this thaw. The road outside was one great puddle. But I have found two airy rooms, in a villa. . . . It's strange, I should never have believed that I could ever come and live at Driebergen . . . and in the winter too! . . ."
He inspected his hands, which were now clean:
"Imagine," he said, "if there were no water left! I should be dead next day!"
Paul really brightened up. He was a great deal at the house, very soon got into the habit of dining
