their human companions only by a door. He whipped out the sketch-block
and small box of colors which he always carries, and began jotting down
impressions. A dash of red for the painted brick walls, and of green for
the mangers; a yellow blur for the mote-filled rays of sunshine
streaming through the cows' white-curtained windows, and on the
flower-pots adorning their window-sills; a trifle more elaboration for
the carpet of sawdust stamped with an ornamental pattern, and the quaint
design of the cupboard-beds for the stablemen in the wall opposite; a
streak here and there for the cords which loop the cows' tails to nails
in the ceiling; gorgeous spots of crimson and yellow for the piled
cheeses. And in the adjoining room, the while our guide described in
creditable English the process of cheese-making, Starr sketched him
standing before his big blue press, printing out his molds with an odd,
yellow reflection from the cheese cannonballs heaped on trays, shining
up into the shrewd Dutch face. Then in came the young wife, with a child
or two (pretty dark creatures like their mother, with the innocent brown
eyes of calves), followed by grandmama in her gold helmet, to say that
our meal was ready; and Starr induced them to stand for him, though they
were reluctant and self-conscious, and it was by sheer fascination that
he prevailed.
[Illustration: _Starr induced them to stand for him, though they were
reluctant and self-conscious_]
Never had any of the party except myself seen a room like that to which
we were summoned for luncheon, and Starr could not eat until he had said
in a "few words of paint" what he thought of its paneled walls, its
shelves littered with quaint and foolish china, ostrich eggs, shells,
model ships, and hundred-year-old toys; its ancient brass-handled chests
of drawers, its extraordinary fireplace, and best of all, its
white-curtained cupboard-beds; one for grandmama, with a kind of trapeze
arrangement to help her rise; one for papa and mama, with an inner shelf
like a nest for baby; and one with a fence for a parcel of children. The
artist's cream-eggs grew cold while he worked, but it was worth the
sacrifice, for the result was excellent, and Nell's admiration gave me,
I'm ashamed to say, a qualm of jealousy. I have no such accomplishments
with which to win her.
We sat in high chairs with pictures of ships painted on backs and arms,
while we lunched off willow-patterned plates, drank delicious coffee out
of cups with feet, and stirred it with antique silver spoons, small
enough for children's playthings. Afterwards the old lady with the
helmet, and the pretty daughter-in-law were persuaded to show their
winter wardrobes, which consisted mostly of petticoats. There were
dozens, some knitted of heavy wool, some quilted in elaborate patterns,
and some of thick, fleecy cloth; but there was not one weighing less
than three pounds.
"Do ask how many they wear at a time?" the Chaperon commanded, no doubt
with a thought for her mysterious note-book, about which I often wonder.
"I wear eight, summer and winter," replied the old lady. "My
daughter-in-law is of the younger generation, and does not put on more
than six. Little Maria is allowed only four; it is better for children
not to carry much weight."
The girls looked petrified. "What martyrdom!" exclaimed Nell. "Even the
Duke of Alva couldn't have subjected Dutch women to much worse torture
than that. Eight of these knitted and wadded petticoats in summer! It's
being buried alive up to the waist. In the name of civilization, _why_
do they do it?"
I passed on the question to the old lady. She and her daughter-in-law
received it gravely, thought it over for a moment, and then replied----
"But we must do it, mynheer; it is the mode. It has always been the
mode."
"Talk of slaves of fashion!" muttered Nell. "If you want to find them,
don't look in London or Paris or New York, but among the peasantry of
Holland!"
Not one of the three could recover from the shock. They seemed stunned,
as if all the petticoats at once had fallen from the shelves onto their
heads and overwhelmed them; and even when we had said good-by to
Wilhelminaberg, they talked in hushed tones of what it must feel like to
be clothed in eight petticoats. They would probably have gone on
discussing the subject in all its phases, until we regained the boat, if
something had not happened. It was just after we passed the bandstand in
the meer, and Starr had wondered aloud if the inhabitants of Broek ever
did revel so giddily and publicly as to come outside their gardens to
hear music, when there was a loud splash, followed by a cry.
The splash was Tibe's, the cry his mistress's, and in an instant we were
in a flutter, for the dog was in the lake.
Close to shore the water is coated over with lily-pads, mingling with a
bright green, beady vegetation; and Tibe mistook it for a meadow.
Standing at a considerable elevation on the road above, he leaped down
with happy confidence, only to be deceived as many wiser than he have
been, by appearances. Bulldogs have virtues all their own, but they
are not spaniels; and there was despair in Tibe's brown eyes, as he
threw one last look of appeal at his friends before disappearing under
the green carpet.
Up he came in a second, covered with green beads, his black mouth choked
with them. Although not a water-dog, instinct kept him afloat, and he
began to swim awkwardly, forging farther from shore instead of nearer.
In a moment he had tangled his legs among thick-growing, ropey stems of
water-lilies, and frightened and confused at finding himself a prisoner,
went down again under the green surface.
Meanwhile his mistress was half mad with fright, and would not listen to
Starr's assurance that the dog was in no danger.
"He'll bob up serenely and swim close to us; then I'll hook my stick in
his collar and pull him out," the Mariner said cheerfully; but she
pushed him away, sobbing.
Now, I never could bear to see a woman cry, even a woman in blue
spectacles; so I did not wait for Tibe to come up and recover presence
of mind, as he probably would, but splashed down myself onto the green
carpet.
The water hardly reached to my hips, so there was no bravery in the
feat, and I felt a fool as I went wading out to the spot where, by this
time, the dog's head had again appeared among the water-lily pads, the
living image of a gargoyle. But as I hauled him out, with a word of
encouragement, the poor chap's gratitude repaid me. Looking like a
_vert-de-gris_ statue of a dog, he licked such portions of me as he
could reach with a green tongue, and blessed me with his beautiful eyes.
When I had him on _terra firma_ we both shook ourselves, sending an
emerald spray flying in all directions; and then abortive attempts were
made to dry Tibe with the handkerchiefs of the united party. A few
hurried "Thank you's" were all I got from the Chaperon at the time, but
on board "Lorelei" she had something more to say.
Before starting, I had to go to my stateroom on "Waterspin" to change
wet clothes for dry ones, and when I was ready to take up my part of
skipper, no one was on deck save the Chaperon and Tibe--a subdued Tibe
buttoned up in a child's cape, which his mistress insisted on buying in
Amsterdam for him to wear in cold weather.
"My poor darling spattered the girls so much, that they're below taking
off their frocks," she explained. "Mr. Starr's changing too, I think,
but I waited to speak to you alone, although I am a _sight_. I have
something particular to say."
I looked a question, and she went on. "I've always liked you, from the
first. I saw you were the kind of man who could be trusted never to
injure a woman, no matter what your opinion of her might be, and I'd
have done you a good turn if it had come in my way; but now, after what
I owe you this afternoon, I'm ready to go _out_ of my way. You won't
think I'm an interfering"--she hesitated a moment--"old thing, if I say
I can guess why you are skipper--why you're on this trip at all. Now, if
you wanted to be disagreeable I expect you could say that you _know_ why
I'm on board; but I don't believe you do want to be disagreeable, do
you?"
"Certainly not," said I, laughing. "And even if I did, there's an old
proverb which forbids the pot to call the kettle black."
"Oh, you and I and my dear nephew Ronny are pots and kettles together,
the three of us; but our _hearts_ are all right. And talking of hearts
leads up to what I want to say."
"About my job as skipper?"
"Yes."
"You say you can guess why I took it. My idea is, that you guessed the
first day on board."
"Why, of _course_ I did. I saw which one of the girls it was, too, and
noticed that something had gone wrong. That interested me, for I'm
observant."
"You're 'a chiel amang us takkin notes.'"
"Think of a Dutchman quoting that! However, even peasants in Holland
break into English and German. Why shouldn't a Jonkheer spout Burns? But
let me get to my point. I haven't found out what the trouble is, but I
know you must have sinned against the girl in some way, or done
something tactless, which is worse, and made her angry. Or else she felt
it was her _duty_ to be angry, and has been living up to it ever since.
Talk of the 'way of a man with a maid!' The way of a maid with a man is
funnier and more subtle. Nell Van Buren is an adorable girl, but the
more adorable a girl is, the more horried she can be."
"That _is_ subtle."
"Why, of course. What else should it be? And the whole thing's been as
good as a play to watch. I wished you well from the beginning, but I
thought you capable of taking care of yourself."
"And now you've changed your mind?"
"I have, since yesterday. I'm sure something happened at Amsterdam in
the morning, she was so different. What did you do to her?"
"I bullied her a little," I said.
"I _thought_ as much. How could you?"
"I believed it would be good for her."
"So it was. But it wasn't good for you."
"She has been angelic since."
"That's the danger-signal. Poor man, you couldn't see it?"
"I was rather encouraged--though it seemed too delightful to be true," I
admitted.
"Men are blind--especially when they're in love. You understand
motor-boats better than you do girls."
"I dare say," I said meekly.
"She's so nice to you because she means to punish you by-and-by, for
humbling her pride. I'm warning you, as a reward for saving my treasured
lamb. If Tibe hadn't fallen into the water, and you hadn't pulled him
out, perhaps I'd have left you to founder, and watched the fun. But now
I say, take care. She's dangerous."
"How can you tell?" I asked.
"How can I tell? Because I'm a woman, of course, and because I should
act just the same--if I were young."
"Well, if you're right, what am I to do?"
"That's what I want to talk to you about. You must pretend to be tired
of her."
"Good heavens!"
"She mustn't see that she has any power over you. She cares for you more
than she lets herself think."
"I wish to goodness I could believe that."
"There's no use in your believing it. The thing is, to make _her_
believe it--make her find it out, with a shock. And there's only one way
of doing that."
"What?"
"Rouse her to jealousy."
I laughed bitterly. "Tell me to get her the moon."
"Flirt with Miss Rivers."
"My dear madam, you've proved to me that I'm a fool; but I'm neither cad
nor hypocrite."
"Dear me, if _that's_ the way you're going to take it, you're lost. Our
dear Ronny will snatch her from under your nose, although she isn't a
bit in love with him, and _is_ with you, if you'd consent to shake her
up a little."
"Starr is in love with them both."
"He was; or rather he was in love with being in love. But because you
want Miss Van Buren, out of pure contrariness he thinks now that he
wants her. Beware of her kindness. If you should be deluded by it into
proposing, she'd send you about your business, and perhaps accept the
other man because she was wretched, and didn't quite realize what was
the matter."
"You're a gloomy prophetess," I said miserably.
"You won't take my advice?"
"No. I can't do that. I must do the best I can for myself in some other
way."
"There isn't any other."
"I shall try."
"Well, promise me you won't propose for a fortnight, anyhow; or until I
give you leave."
"We--all--always--do whatever you wish us to, extraordinary lady. I
wonder why?"
"You must go on wondering. But in the meantime I will--"
"You will----"
"Try to save you--as you saved Tibe."
XX
The Mariner was restless when we landed at the strange town of
Monnikendam, and had the air--or I imagined it--of expecting something.
As we walked through the wide Hoog Straat, he glanced absent-mindedly at
the rows of beautiful seventeenth century houses, as if he feared to see
Sir Alec MacNairne spring from behind some ornamented, ancient door, to
accuse him as a perjured villain. Even the exquisite church tower, which
has the semblance of holding aloft a carved goblet of old silver, did
not appeal to him as it would if he had not been preoccupied. And
instead of laughing at the crowds of children who clattered after us,
waking the clean and quiet streets with the ring of sabots, he let them
get upon his nerves. The girls were amused, however, and said that the
little pestering voices babbling broken English without sense or
sequence, were like the voices of the story in the "Arabian
Nights"--haunting voices which tempted you to turn round, although you
had been warned beforehand that, if you did, you would lose your human
form and become a stone.
Tibe was the real attraction; a sadder and wiser Tibe than the Tibe of
an hour ago, so sad and so wise that he did not even attempt to insist
upon a friendship with three snow-white kids which joined the procession
of his admirers.
Starr walked beside his aunt, as if to protect her in case of need; and
once or twice when I tried to attract their attention to some notable
facade or doorway, they were absorbed in conversation, and might as well
have been in New York as in Monnikendam on the Zuider Zee.
When I had shown the party what I thought best worth seeing, I had to
leave them to their own resources, and go alone to the boat. Hendrik
could not navigate "Lorelei" and her square-shouldered companion through
the series of locks by which the canal pours its soul into the heart of
the Zuider Zee.
It took me half an hour to do it, and when I had brought the two craft
to the last of the sea-locks, the four people and the one dog were
waiting for me, the most persistent of the children hovering in the
distance.
"It's a bigger town than Broek-in-Waterland, but not as interesting,"
said the Chaperon, looking back disparagingly in the direction of
Monnikendam, "nor as clean. I saw five bits of paper in as many streets,
and a woman we met didn't appear at all inclined to commit suicide
because she'd desecrated the pavement by upsetting a pail of milk:
whereas in Broek she'd have been hauled off to prison. Each house in
Broek looked like a model in jewelry, and the whole effect was like a
_presepio_ cut in pasteboard; but the Monnikendam houses are big enough
for people to lie out straight in, when they go to bed, which seems
quite commonplace. Except for that church tower, and a few doorways, and
the wonderful costumes, and the shoe-shop where they sell nothing but
sabots, I don't see why we bothered to stop at Monnikendam."
"I thought you were keen to visit the Dead Cities of the Zuider Zee,"
said I.
She stared at me as blankly as if she had not been prophesying my doom a
little while ago.
"What's that got to do with Monnikendam?" she demanded.
"Only that Monnikendam _is_ one of the Dead Cities; your first," I
explained; but she cried incredulously----
"Monnikendam a Dead City of the Zuider Zee? _Say_ it isn't true."
"I'm afraid it is."
"Oh, then I _am_ disappointed! I thought we should come to the Dead
Cities along the shore of the sea. That we'd see grass-grown streets
lined with empty houses fallen half to pieces, and that perhaps if the
water were clear we could look down, down, and spy steeples and ruined
castles glimmering at the bottom. Won't some be like that?"
"Not one," I said. "They won't be any deader than Monnikendam, which was
once the playground of merchant princes. I thought it was dead enough."
"Not to please me," she answered, with the air of a Madame Defarge in
blue spectacles.
The Mariner came up before we had got into open sea. For the moment the
three ladies were occupied in watching Tibe, who had fallen asleep in
his cape, and was running with all his feet in some wild dream,
flickering in every muscle, and wrinkling his black mug into alarming
grimaces.
"Look here," said Starr, cautiously, "do you think we can paint out the
name of 'Lorelei' when we get to Volendam, or must we engage a man to do
it? Of course, if we could, it would cause less remark, especially if we
did the job in the evening or early morning."
"What! you took that idea of mine seriously?" I asked.
"Certainly. It was a brilliant one."
"I doubt if Miss Van Buren would consent," said I.
"She has, already."
"By Jove! What excuse did you make for asking her?"
"I didn't ask her. What I did was to put the notion into darling
Auntie's head. I knew after that, the thing was as good as done. I
remarked in my vaguest way that it was a wonder some catastrophe hadn't
happened to Tibe or other less important members of the party, on board
a boat named 'Lorelei.' I didn't exactly _say_ it was an unlucky name,
but somehow or other she seemed to think so at the end of our
conversation. Then she had a conversation with Miss Van Buren; and the
consequence is that the sooner 'Lorelei's' name is changed to 'Mascotte'
the better the owner will be pleased; and no questions asked."
"By Jove!" said I, again. There's something uncanny about the Mariner's
adopted relative. I would give a good deal to know what she's planning
to do for me; for if she has decided that my name had better be painted
on or off any heart of her acquaintance, I have little doubt it will be.
Once out of the sluice, we were immediately in the Zuider Zee, whose
yellow waves rocked "Lorelei" as if she were a cradle, causing the barge
to wallow heavily in our wake. Should the weather be rough at any time
when we have seaports to visit, "Lorelei" and her consort will have to
lie in harbor, and the party must be satisfied to do the journey on a
commonplace passenger-boat. But on such a day as this there was no
danger, no excuse for seasickness, although I half expected the ladies
to ask if we were safe. Apparently, however, the doubt did not enter
their heads. So far we have had neither accident nor stoppage of any
kind, and they have ceased to think it possible that anything can happen
to the motor.
Marken, with its tall-spired church, soon appeared to our eyes, the
closely grouped little island-town seeming to float on the waves as San
Giorgio Maggiore does at Venice, in the sunset hour.
In spite of my sneers at the island theater and its performers,
eagerness betrayed itself in the manner of my passengers, as we
approached Marken, full petrol ahead.
"They see us," I announced, as we drew near enough to make out that a
crowd of huge green and yellow mounds massed in the harbor were
hay-boats. "They're congratulating themselves on an unexpected harvest,
as the big audiences for which they cater every morning and afternoon in
summer are gone for the day. When we arrive, there'll be a
stage-setting and a stage-grouping, which would make a 'hit' for a first
act in London."
Still nearer we came, and now we could see men and women and little
children playing at unloading the hay with pitchforks from boats large
and small. It was the prettiest sight imaginable, and one felt that
there ought to be an accompaniment of light music from a hidden
orchestra.
The men were dressed in black and dark blue jerseys, or long jackets
with silver buttons, and enormously loose trousers, each leg of which
gave the effect of a half-deflated balloon. At their brown throats
glittered knobs of silver or gold, and there was another lightning-flash
of precious metal at the waist. Their hair was cut straight across the
forehead, over the ears and at the back of the neck, as if the barber
had clapped on a bowl and trimmed round it; and from under the brims of
impudent looking caps, glowed narrow, defiant blue eyes.
But though the men are well enough as pictures, it is the women and
children of Marken who have made the fortune of the little island as a
show place; and to-day they were at their best, raking the golden hay,
their yellow hair, their brilliant complexions, and still more brilliant
costumes dazzling in the afternoon sunlight.
We landed, and nobody appeared to pay the slightest attention to us.
That is part of the daily play; but I was the only one who knew this,
and seeing these charming, wonderful creatures peacefully pursuing their
pastoral occupations as if there were no stranger eyes to stare, I was
reproached for my base insinuations.
"How could you call them 'sharpers'?" cried Phyllis. "They're
loves--darlings. I could kiss every one of them. They have the most
angelic faces, and the children--why, they're _cherubs_."
It was true. The picture was idyllic, if slightly sensational in
coloring. There was scarcely a woman who was not pretty; and a female
thing must be plain indeed not to look charming in the gorgeous costume
of Marken. The snow-and-rose complexions, the sky-blue eyes, the golden
fringe, and two long yellow curls, one on either side the face, falling
to the breast from under tight-fitting mob caps covered with lace; the
short, very full blue and black skirts; the richly embroidered bodices,
brilliant as the breast of a parrot; the filmy fichus and white sleeves;
the black sabots with painted wreaths of roses, turned the little harbor
of Marken into a rare flower-garden. The expressions of the fair faces
were beautifully mild, also, and it was not strange to hear Miss Rivers
pronounce the women angels and the children cherubs.
The group at the hay-boats formed the chorus; but we had not been on
land for many minutes before the principal characters in the play began
to appear. A young girl, who might be called the leading lady, came
tripping down to the harbor with a tiny child hanging to each hand. All
three were apparently dressed alike, in rich embroideries and full
skirts to their ankles, worn over an incredible number of petticoats;
but I could tell by a small rosette on the cap of the middle child that
it was a boy.
The trio approached, smiling seraphically; and it goes without saying
that the three ladies began petting the two fantastic babes.
"How do you do? You like see inside a Marken house?" asked the pretty
girl, speaking English with the voice of a young siren.
They all answered that they would be delighted.
"I show my home. You come with me."
Starr and I were bidden to follow, and I would not spoil sport by
letting it be known to the actress that one member of the audience was a
Dutchman. The charming creature with her two bobbing golden curls was
knitting a stocking almost as long as her little brother, and as she
turned to show the way, she never for an instant ceased work. Toiling
after her, we walked along the dyke where the fishermen's houses stand
in flows, hoisted on poles like storks' nests, out of the reach of
inundations.
Needles glittering, our guide led us to the foot of a steep flight of
steps belonging to a house like all the other houses; so much like, that
it would seem we were being ushered into an ordinary specimen of a
fisher-family dwelling; but I knew better.
Now the scene changed. The first stage-setting was Marken Harbor with
the hay-boats. For the second act we had the interior of the honest
fisherman's cottage. And what an interior it was!
In all Europe there is no such place as Marken, no such dresses, no such
golden curls, no such rooms as these into which a coquettishly capped
mother with a marvelous doll of a baby in her arms, was sweetly inviting
us.
"Only think of these fisher-folk living in such wonderful little
jewel-caskets of houses!" exclaimed Phyllis, to be echoed by murmurs of
admiration from the others. But I said nothing. And it really was like
wandering into a fairy picture-book. It was impossible to imagine any
other house resembling this, unless that of Silverhair's Three Bears.
The polished green walls were almost hidden with brightly colored Dutch
placks, and shelves covered with little useless ornaments. The chairs
were yellow, with roses painted over them, and varnished till they
twinkled. The family beds in the wall had white curtains as crisp as new
banknotes, and white knitted coverlets with wool-lace ruffles; but as
the green doors of the beds were kept shut for the day, you would not
have suspected the elegance within, had not the Siren opened them for
inspection. Under the door of each bed was placed a little red bench,
festooned with painted flowers; and as there were nine in the family and
only four beds, counting the little one underneath for the babies, the
disposition of forces at night did not bear thinking of.