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Updated: June 13, 2025
The coachman was now upon his box, gathering up the reins and grumbling at his horses. Janzoon accosted him. "I say. What's going on at the idiot's cottage? Is your boss in there?" Coachman nodded mysteriously. "Whew!" whistled Janzoon, drawing closer. "Old Brinker dead?" The driver grew big with importance and silent in proportion.
Not until moon and stars faded away and streaks of daylight began to appear did Meitje Brinker and Hans look hopelessly into each other's faces. They had searched the ground thoroughly, desperately, all round the tree; south, north, east, west. Glimpses Annie Bouman had a healthy distaste for Janzoon Kolp. Janzoon Kolp, in his own rough way, adored Annie.
She went tripping along by the canal, quite resolved to repeat the sin, ad infinitum, and tell nearly every girl and boy in the school. Meantime Janzoon Kolp came skating by. Of course, in two seconds, he was striking slippery attitudes and shouting saucy things to the coachman, who stared at him in indolent disdain. This, to Janzoon, was equivalent to an invitation to draw nearer.
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