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Rh "Hans," asked Brauws, "what's the matter, old fellow?"

"It's that idiot of a Guy!" said Van der Welcke, at last, hoarsely. "I was looking for him this morning, couldn't find him anywhere. His bicycle was gone. . . . He has cleared out. He left three letters behind him: for his mother, for Addie and for us. He writes that he can't work at books, that he wants to try his own way. . . . I've read all the letters. . . . He tells Addie . . . that he feels that he must stand alone . . . that he must stand alone if he's to do any good . . . that . . . in this house. . . ."

Van der Welcke gave a sob.

"Well?"

"He feels himself growing flabby . . . because there's too much affection, too much leniency for him. . . . That's the sort of thing he writes. . . . Who would have thought the boy was so silly? . . . He writes that he won't do any good . . . if he stays here. . . . That he wants to go and face the world. . . . A boy of his age! . . . The most ridiculous idea I've ever heard of! . ..

"The boy may be right," said Brauws, very gently.

But Van der Welcke was not listening:

"I shall miss him," he confessed. "I miss him now. He was my favourite . . . among them all. He consoled me for the loss of Addie. . . . I loved him as my own son; so . . . so did Constance."

Brauws was silent.

"Life is a damned, rotten encumbrance!" said Van der Welcke, explosively. "We do everything for those children, we do everything for that boy; and, all of a sudden, he goes away . . . instead of . . . instead of staying with us, causes us