Jelte Eisinga jumped with alarm as the front door of the house, De Ooijevaar, slammed loudly. A moment later his father came storming into the kitchen and angrily threw the latest edition of the Leeuwarder Courant onto the table. Not even noticing his 6-year-old son, Eise stamped up the stairs to the attic, still mumbling to himself. Jelte started to cry and, when his mother came in from the yard to see what all the commotion was about, he hid himself in the folds of her dress. Pietje was all too familiar with her husband’s moods, but recently, now his life’s work was nearing completion, he had seemed to be more content. What could have upset him so much?