Stories by Foreign Authors: Polish, Greek, Belgian, Hungarian eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 153 pages of information about Stories by Foreign Authors.

Stories by Foreign Authors: Polish, Greek, Belgian, Hungarian eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 153 pages of information about Stories by Foreign Authors.

Dolf drew back, and made a grimace as if he really would have to go back to the shop.  But, at the same time, he winked to Riekje to let her know that it was a joke.  Nelle, who had not seen this, struck the palm of her left hand with her right fist, complaining bitterly.

“What are we to do without milk, Dolf?  I must go to town myself.  These big lads think of nothing but their love, Tobias.”

“If I produced the milk from under Riekje’s chair, would you kiss me, mother?” Dolf broke in, heartily laughing, and throwing one arm round his mother’s neck, while he held the other hidden behind his back.

“Be quiet, bad boy,” said Nelle, half in anger, half jokingly; “how can there be any milk under Riekje’s chair?”

“Will you kiss me?” he replied blithely.  “Once—­twice—–­”

Nelle turned quickly to Riekje: 

“Get up, my girl, so that I may see whether I am to kiss your good-for-nothing husband.”

Dolf bent over Riekje and looked under her chair, pretending not to find anything at first; finally he held the jug of milk triumphantly out at arm’s length.  He laughed gayly, his hand on his thigh: 

“Ah! who’ll be kissed now, mother?  Who’ll be kissed?”

They all roared with laughter at the good joke.

“Dolf, kiss Riekje; bees like honey,” cried Nelle.

Her lover made a ceremonious bow to Riekje, placed one foot behind the other, pressed his hand to his heart, as the quality do, and, with a solemn air, exclaimed: 

“Soul of my soul, may I embrace one so fair as you?”

Then, without waiting for a reply, Dolf threw his arm round Riekje’s waist, raised her from her chair, and pressed his young lips upon her neck.  But Riekje half turned her head, and they kissed one another warmly on the lips.

“Riekje,” said Dolf, licking his lips in a greedy fashion, “a kiss like that is better than ryspap.”

“Nelle, let us do the same thing,” said Tobias.  “I delight to see them so happy.”

“Willingly,” said Nelle.  “Were we not the same in our own kissing days?”

“Ah!  Nelle, they are always kissing days when there are two, and when there is some little spot on earth where they can make a peaceful home.”

Tobias kissed his wife’s cheeks; then, in her turn, Nelle gave him two big kisses which resounded like the snapping of dry firewood.

“Riekje,” Dolf whispered, “I shall always love you.”

“Dolf,” replied Riekje, “I shall love you till death.”

“I am two years older than you are, Riekje.  When you were ten I was twelve, and I think I loved you then, but not so much as now.”

“No, dear, you have only known me since last May.  All the rest is not true.  Tell me, Dolf, that all the rest is not true.  I must hear it, that I may love you without any feeling of shame.”  As Riekje leaned against her husband’s breast, she threw herself back a little, and it was evident that she would soon be a mother.

Copyrights
Project Gutenberg
Stories by Foreign Authors: Polish, Greek, Belgian, Hungarian from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.