The Soul of Nicholas Snyders | Page 5

these things are chance. Why should one man be given gold, and
another be given parched peas? He has as much right to Jan's soul as
Jan ever had. He is wiser, he can do more good with it. It was Jan's soul

that loved Christina; let Jan's soul win her if it can. And Jan's soul,
listening to the argument, could not think of a word to offer in
opposition.
Christina was still asleep when Nicholas re-entered the kitchen. He
lighted the fire and cooked the breakfast and then aroused her gently.
There was no doubt it was Christina. The moment her eyes rested on
old Nicholas, there came back to her the frightened rabbit look that had
always irritated him. It irritated him now, but the irritation was against
himself.
"You were sleeping so soundly when I came in last night--" Christina
commenced.
"And you were afraid to wake me," Nicholas interrupted her. "You
thought the old curmudgeon would be cross. Listen, Christina. You
paid off yesterday the last debt your father owed. It was to an old
sailor--I had not been able to find him before. Not a cent more do you
owe, and there remains to you, out of your wages, a hundred florins. It
is yours whenever you like to ask me for it."
Christina could not understand, neither then nor during the days that
followed; nor did Nicholas enlighten her. For the soul of Jan had
entered into a very wise old man, who knew that the best way to live
down the past is to live boldly the present. All that Christina could be
sure of was that the old Nicholas Snyders had mysteriously vanished,
that in his place remained a new Nicholas, who looked at her with
kindly eyes--frank and honest, compelling confidence. Though
Nicholas never said so, it came to Christina that she herself, her sweet
example, her ennobling influence it was that had wrought this
wondrous change. And to Christina the explanation seemed not
impossible--seemed even pleasing.
The sight of his littered desk was hateful to him. Starting early in the
morning, Nicholas would disappear for the entire day, returning in the
evening tired but cheerful, bringing with him flowers that Christina
laughed at, telling him they were weeds. But what mattered names? To
Nicholas they were beautiful. In Zandam the children ran from him, the

dogs barked after him. So Nicholas, escaping through byways, would
wander far into the country. Children in the villages around came to
know a kind old fellow who loved to linger, his hands resting on his
staff, watching their play, listening to their laughter; whose ample
pockets were storehouses of good things. Their elders, passing by,
would whisper to one another how like he was in features to wicked old
Nick, the miser of Zandam, and would wonder where he came from.
Nor was it only the faces of the children that taught his lips to smile. It
troubled him at first to find the world so full of marvellously pretty
girls--of pretty women also, all more or less lovable. It bewildered him.
Until he found that, notwithstanding, Christina remained always in his
thoughts the prettiest, the most lovable of them all. Then every pretty
face rejoiced him: it reminded him of Christina.
On his return the second day, Christina had met him with sadness in her
eyes. Farmer Beerstraater, an old friend of her father's, had called to see
Nicholas; not finding Nicholas, had talked a little with Christina. A
hardhearted creditor was turning him out of his farm. Christina
pretended not to know that the creditor was Nicholas himself, but
marvelled that such wicked men could be. Nicholas said nothing, but
the next day Farmer Beerstraater had called again, all smiles, blessings,
and great wonder.
"But what can have come to him?" repeated Farmer Beerstraater over
and over.
Christina had smiled and answered that perhaps the good God had
touched his heart; but thought to herself that perhaps it had been the
good influence of another. The tale flew. Christina found herself
besieged on every hand, and, finding her intercessions invariably
successful, grew day by day more pleased with herself, and by
consequence more pleased with Nicholas Snyders. For Nicholas was a
cunning old gentleman. Jan's soul in him took delight in undoing the
evil the soul of Nicholas had wrought. But the brain of Nicholas
Snyders that remained to him whispered: "Let the little maid think it is
all her doing."
The news reached the ears of Dame Toelast. The same evening saw her

seated in the inglenook opposite Nicholas Snyders, who smoked and
seemed bored.
"You are making a fool of yourself, Nicholas Snyders," the Dame told
him. "Everybody is laughing at you."
"I had rather they laughed than cursed me," growled Nicholas.