Rich, green, Dutch pastures, unbroken by hedge or wall, which stretched—­like an emerald ocean—­to the horizon and met the sky.  The cows stood ankle-deep in it and chewed the cud, the clouds sailed slowly over it to the sea, and on a dry hillock sat Mother, in her broad sun-hat, with one eye to the cows, and one to the linen she was bleaching, thinking of her farm.

The actual outlines of this scene may be traced in the German woodcut to which the tale was written, but the colouring is Julie’s!  The only disturbing element in this quiet picture is Peter Paul’s restless, inquiring heart.  What wonder that when his bulb-growing uncle fails to solve the riddle of life, Peter Paul should go out into the wider world and try to find a solution for himself?  But the answers to our life problems full often are to be found within, for those who will look, and so Peter Paul comes back after some years to find that: 

The elder sister was married and had two children.  She had grown up very pretty—­a fair woman, with liquid misleading eyes.  They looked as if they were gazing into the far future, but they did not see an inch beyond the farm.  Anna was a very plain copy of her in body; in mind she was the elder sister’s echo.  They were very fond of each other, and the prettiest thing about them was their faithful love for their mother, whose memory was kept as green as pastures after rain.

Peter Paul’s temperament, however, was not one that could adapt itself to a stagnant existence; so when his three weeks on shore are ended, we see him on his way from the Home Farm to join his ship: 

     Leena walked far over the pastures with Peter Paul.  She was very
     fond of him, and she had a woman’s perception that they would miss
     him more than he could miss them.

     “I am very sorry you could not settle down with us,” she said, and
     her eyes brimmed over.

     Peter Paul kissed the tears tenderly from her cheeks.

“Perhaps I shall when I am older, and have shaken off a few more of my whims into the sea.  I’ll come back yet, Leena, and live very near to you, and grow tulips, and be as good an old bachelor-uncle to your boy as Uncle Jacob is to me.”

* * * * *

     When they got to the hillock where Mother used to sit, Peter Paul
     took her once more into his arms.

     “Good-bye, good sister,” he said, “I have been back in my childhood
     again, and GOD knows that is both pleasant and good for one.”

     “And it is funny that you should say so,” said Leena, smiling
     through her tears; “for when we were children you were never happy
     except in thinking of when you should be a man.”

And with this salutary home-thrust (which thoroughly commonplace minds have such a provoking faculty for giving) Leena went back to her children and cattle.