The doctor had gone by the six o'clock train, after a cordial farewell to Jan; he had gone--as it was soon to turn out--without having previously informed his daughters.
But of this Jan knew nothing.
"Twenty minutes past eight," quoth Jan, consulting his watch, a silver one, the size of a turnip.

Jan had bought it when he was poor: had given about two pounds for it, second-hand.

It never occurred to Jan to buy a better one while that legacy of his was lying idle.

Why should he?
Jan's turnip kept time to a moment, and Jan did not understand buying things for show.

"Ten minutes yet! I shall eat a double share of bacon this morning .-- Good-morning, Miss Deb." Miss Deb was stealing into the surgery with a scared look and a white face.