and fresh flowers, glittering brass and pewter things, and gay old
china. But it was the next room--a small one adjoining the big
living-room--which roused the highest admiration. There was not much
furniture, but up to the low ceiling the walls were concealed by shelves
laden with gorgeously painted wooden boxes, little and big. They were of
all colors and all brightly varnished. Some were plain blue, or green,
or crimson; others had Dutch or Japanese scenery painted on their sides,
and the largest could not have been more than a foot and a half long, by
eight inches in height.
"This must be where they keep their cake and bread, and kitchen stores,"
said Miss Rivers; but with a smile the Siren began to open the boxes.
Instead of sugar and spices they contained the family wardrobe; folded
neck-handkerchiefs in great variety; little embroidered jackets for the
children; lace-covered caps; bodices, and even--in the largest
boxes--petticoats.
The ladies, and Starr also, were charmed with everything, especially the
dark, secretive loft, as full of suspended fishing nets as Bluebeard's
closet was of wives. They had never seen such a distracting place as
Marken, or such kind and pretty people. It was nearly an hour before it
occurred to them that they had better say good-by, and by that time they
knew the whole history of the interesting family.
They shook hands with each one of the nine, including the baby, patted
the cat and then lingered outside, taking photographs. Some of the
neighbors--young women and girls, with dimples in the roses of their
cheeks--drew nearer, as if lured by admiration of the ladies. Nell and
Phyllis, seeing them, beckoned, and the fair creatures obeyed the
summons with an appearance of shyness. They too, were photographed; and
after many politenesses had been exchanged, Starr came to ask if I
thought the dear things' feelings would be hurt by a small offering of
money.
"They may, and probably will be--if the offering is small," said I,
dryly.
"What are you insinuating?" exclaimed Nell.
Meanwhile the Siren, her sisters and brothers, and a number of handsome
friends of her own age, pinned wary eyes upon us. The dimples were in
abeyance, for the guileless angels guessed the subject of conversation,
and were preparing for eventualities.
"I don't think they'll refuse money," I said. "In fact, they expect it."
"How much ought we to give?" asked Starr.
"Whatever you have handy, and whatever you think it's worth," said I,
exploring my pockets for silver.
"I suppose the family would be delighted with the gulden," suggested
Phyllis. "We might hand one child another, to divide among her little
friends, and buy them sweets."
"You can try that, and see if they thank you," I replied.
"Why, of course they will," said the Chaperon. "It's easy to see that
they have lovely dispositions, except the little boy who was afraid of
Tibe, just because he tried in play to bite off the button on the back
of his cap."
I stood still and watched the others reviewing their change, putting
their bits of silver together to make up the sum decided upon, as small
money is always at a premium. I did not add my mite to the fund, for I
knew what would happen in the end.
Finally, Phyllis was chosen as emissary for the party.
"Good-by again," she said sweetly to our late guide. "Here's something
for your little brothers and sisters to remember us by; and will you ask
your companions to buy themselves some sweets with the rest?"
But in a second the Siren was transformed into a harpy. Her blue eyes
turned to steel, and shot lightning. The children, understanding the
situation, stood by looking like little sharks, and the handsome friends
suddenly assumed the air of fierce wild birds in the Zoo, just tame
enough to eat out of your hand if you offer what they like, but hating
and scorning you in their cold hearts--the bright-plumaged things; ready
to bite your finger to the bone, should you tease instead of feed them.
Our guide held up a hand with all her fingers spread out. "Five! Five!"
she demanded shrilly. "Every one of you give one gulden. All this you
gave is to my friends. Not enough for me. I have more. I _always_ have
more. One gulden every person."
"Nonsense," said I in Dutch. "Here's another gulden. Take that and go
away. It's twice too much for you."
I flung her the money, and she clutched it; but she had not finished
with us yet, nor had the others. Surprised and horrified at the sudden
change in the pink and white angels, the ladies turned away, and hurried
toward the boat. For an instant the creatures were abashed by my
knowledge of Dutch, but it was only for an instant. The mother of nine,
standing in the doorway of the green bandbox house, baby in arms,
shrieked encouragement to her daughter. The Siren clattered after us
with angrily ringing sabots, raging for money; the children cried; the
friends shouted frank criticisms of our features, our hats, our manners.
I would have gone away without rewarding their blackmail with another
penny; but in desperation Starr turned and dashed four or five gulden at
the crowd. The coins rolled, and the bright beings swooped, more than
ever like a flock of gaudy, savage birds in their greed.
Thus we left them, and I saw that the ladies were thankful to be safe
aboard "Lorelei" again.
"Fiends!" gasped the Chaperon, gazing shoreward in a kind of evil
fascination. "And we called them angels and cherubs! I think you are
good, Jonkheer, not to say, 'I told you so.'"
"They're terrible--beautiful and terrible," said Starr, "like figures
that have been brought to life and have sprung at you out of a picture,
to suck your blood--in answer to some wicked wish, that you regret the
minute it's uttered."
"It was a shock to be undeceived, just at the last!" sighed Phyllis. "My
nerves are quite upset."
"I shall dream of them to-night," said Nell; "so don't be surprised,
everybody, if you hear screams in the dark hours. Still, I'm glad we
went; I wouldn't have missed it."
"Nor I," added the Chaperon. "I feel as if we'd paid a visit to some
village of the Orient, and been repulsed by savages with great
slaughter. And--I wasn't going to mention it if they'd stayed nice, it
would have seemed so _treacherous_; but did you notice, in that
wonderful little waxwork house, there was no visible place to _wash_?"
"They don't wash," said I, "except their hands and faces. Most Dutch
peasants consider bathing a dirty habit. They say they are clean, and
so, of course, they don't need to bathe."
"That makes them seem more like birds than ever," exclaimed Nell; "their
clothes are only plumage. I think of them as real people living real
lives. It's true, Marken's a theater, three thousand meters long and a
thousand meters wide, and you pay the actors for your seats. The harbor
itself isn't half as picturesque as Spaakenberg, with its crowding masts
and brown haze of fishing-nets; but the people are worth paying for."
"Tourists like ourselves have spoiled them; they were genuine once," I
said. "Probably Spaakenberg, which is so unsophisticated now, will be
like Marken one day; and even at Volendam, though the people have kept
their heads (which shows they have a sense of humor), they're not
unaware of their artistic value.
"They look down on the islanders as theatrical; but it's partly
jealousy. Marken has a history, you know; it was once connected with the
mainland, but that was as long ago as the thirteenth century, and ever
since the inhabitants have prided themselves on their old customs and
costumes. They're proud of the length of time they've dared to be
Protestant; and no Marken man would dream of crossing to Papist Volendam
for a wife, though Volendam's celebrated for beautiful girls. Nor would
any of the 'fierce, tropical birds,' as you call them, exchange their
island roost for the mainland, although Marken, in times of flood, is a
most uncomfortable perch, and the birds have to go about in boats. But
here we come to Volendam, and you'll be able to make up your mind which
of the two fishing-villages is more interesting."
We had crossed the short expanse of sea, and passing a small lighthouse
were entering a square harbor lined with fishing-boats. Stoutly built,
solid fishing-boats they were, meant for stormy weather; and their metal
pennons, which could never droop in deadest calm, flew bravely, all in
the same direction, like flags in a company of lances in an old
Froissart picture.
"Is Volendam celebrated for tall men as well as beautiful girls?" asked
Nell, as we drew near enough to see figures moving. "There are several
there, but one is almost the tallest man I ever saw--except my cousin
Robert."
"He looks singularly like your cousin Robert," added Starr, not too
joyously.
"I think it _is_ your cousin Robert," said I.
"I'm sure it is your cousin Robert," murmured Miss Rivers.
"But why is your cousin Robert here?" inquired the Chaperon. "Could he
have known you were coming?"
"I didn't write to him," said Nell.
"I didn't," said I.
Nobody else spoke; but Miss Rivers blushed.
PHYLLIS RIVERS' POINT OF VIEW
XXI
I wrote to Mr. van Buren because he asked me to. He never approved of
the trip, and he said that he would be much obliged if I'd drop him a
line every few days to keep him from worrying about Nell.
I didn't mention the conversation to her, as she would be sure to think
it nonsense, since he lived without hearing about her welfare for twenty
years, and never gave himself a moment's anxiety. But, of course, that
was different. She is in his country now, and he feels in a way
responsible for her, as if he were a guardian; only he can't make her do
things, because he has no legal rights. Besides, he is young--not more
than five or six years older than she is--but I wish I had such a
guardian. Instead of going against his advice, I would obey, and even
ask for it.
Mr. van Buren is the wisest young man I ever met, as well as the best
looking, and I am vexed with Nell because she treats him as if he were a
big school-boy. To make up for her ingratitude--I'm afraid it amounts to
that--I have tried to show that _I_ appreciate his kindness. As he's
engaged, I can be nice without danger of his fancying that I'm flirting;
and the poor fellow has seemed pleased with the few little things I've
been able to do by way of expressing our thanks. I wish I could believe
that the girl he's going to marry is good enough for him, but she is
_so_ plain, and seems to have rather an uncertain temper. Nell says she
is a "little cat," but I should be sorry to call any girl such a name,
though I've known many cats better looking and more agreeable than she.
I have always been brought up to think it rather rude to send postcards,
unless they are picture ones for people to put in their albums; and of
course it would be silly flooding Mr. van Buren with pictures of places
he has seen dozens of times, so when I have written to him, I felt
obliged to write regular letters.
I meant to scribble a line or two; but Holland is so fascinating that I
have found myself running on about it, and Mr. van Buren has seemed
grateful because it's his native land, and the places he likes best have
turned out to be my favorites. In that way we have happened to write
each other quite long letters, almost every day, for he has wanted to
tell me I must be sure to see so and so, or do so and so, and I have had
to answer that I have seen it or done it, and liked it as much as he
thought I would.
If our trip could be improved it would be by having Mr. van Buren with
us; but naturally that's impossible, as he's a man of affairs, and
Freule Menela van der Windt would hardly sympathize with his kind wish
to take care of his cousin, if he carried it so far as to leave her for
any length of time, simply on account of Nell. As it is, his letters,
and exchanging ideas with him, have been a pleasure to me, and I should
have liked to share it with Nell--as we always have shared
everything--if I hadn't been afraid she would laugh. Her cousin is too
fine a fellow to be laughed at, so I have protected him by keeping our
correspondence to myself.
I didn't want to come to Holland, as it seemed such a terrifying
adventure for Nell and me to rush away from England and go darting about
in a motor-boat; and so horribly extravagant to spend all the money poor
Captain Noble left, in enjoying ourselves for a few weeks. However, it
_was_ to be, and there is something about Holland which appeals to me
more than I dreamed any country except England could. I loved it almost
from the minute we landed; but when you like any person in a foreign
place it makes you like the place itself better.
I do think Holland is the most complete little country imaginable. While
you are in it, it feels like the whole world, because you appear to be
in the very middle of the world; and, when you look over the wide, flat
spaces, you think that your eyes reach to the end of everything.
And then, all you see is so characteristic of Holland, even the sunrises
and sunsets. Nothing that you find in Holland could be in its right
place anywhere else on earth; but perhaps one can hardly say that
Holland _is_ on earth. Now I've got to know the "Hollow Land" (as
Jonkheer Brederode often calls it), I think if I were kidnapped from
England, taken up in a balloon, and dropped down here, even in a town
I'd never seen, and without _any_ canals, I should say, the minute I
opened my eyes and found my breath, "Why, I'm in dear little Holland."
I should like to be here in winter. Mr. van Buren says if we'll come
he'll teach me to skate; and, according to Jonkheer Brederode, he is a
"champion long-distance skater." But then Mr. van Buren told me the same
thing about Jonkheer Brederode. They are great friends. And talking
about the Jonkheer, I don't know what to make of him lately.
I believed at first that he was in love with Nell, and had got himself
asked on board "Lorelei" so that he might have the chance of knowing her
better. She had the same impression, I think, though she never said so
to me, and she was very angry about something Freule Menela told us. It
seems there was a bet, I don't know exactly about what, except that Nell
was concerned in it, and Mr. van Buren mentioned it to his fiancee. She
oughtn't to have repeated it to us, but she did, and gave the impression
that Jonkheer Brederode was a tremendous flirt, who fancied himself
irresistible with women. She warned us both that if he won his bet, and
contrived to meet us again, we weren't to be carried away by any signs
of admiration on his part, for it was just his way, and he would be too
pleased if we showed ourselves flattered.
This made Nell _furious_, and she said that in her opinion Jonkheer
Brederode ought to be flattered if we were in the least nice to him, but
she for one didn't intend to be.
I was a little prejudiced against him, too, although I admired him very
much when I saw him in the Prinzenhof at Delft, and afterwards at the
_Concours Hippique_. I thought Nell might, in any case, be grateful to
him for saving her when the bathing-machine horse ran away with her into
the sea.
I didn't tell Mr. van Buren what Freule Menela said, for it would have
been mean, as he might have felt vexed with her. But for his sake, as
Jonkheer Brederode is such a hero in his eyes, I determined if ever we
saw the Jonkheer again I wouldn't judge him too severely, and would give
him the benefit of the doubt as long as I could.
It was a surprise, though, to find that he was the "friend" Mr. Starr
had got as skipper, when the real skipper--the professional one--failed
at the last moment.
Naturally, I remembered instantly about the bet, which somehow concerned
his being introduced to Nell within a certain length of time--so Freule
Menela said--and I couldn't help thinking it was impertinent, winning it
in such a way on Nell's own boat.
However, Nell was so horrid to him from the first minute, I grew sorry
for the poor fellow, and he took her snubs like a combination of saint
and gentleman. The more I saw of him the more I began to feel that
Freule Menela van der Windt must have done him an injustice, at least in
some of the things she told us.
I try to keep watch over my temper always, and I hope it isn't too bad;
yet I'm certain that in Jonkheer Brederode's place I couldn't have
endured Nell's behavior, but would have stopped being skipper the second
day out, even if I left a whole party of inoffensive people stranded.
Instead of leaving us in the lurch after undertaking to act as skipper,
however, he has worked for us like a Trojan. Not only has he been
skipper, but guide, philosopher and friend--to say nothing of chauffeur
on shore, and "general provider" of motor-cars, carriages,
surprise-dinners, flowers, and fruit on board the boat.
The trip would have been comparatively tame, if it hadn't been for him,
as none of the rest of us know anything about Holland, and he knows
everything. No trouble has seemed too much for him, if it could add in
any way to our happiness; and I thought it was all for Nell.
He looked at her so wistfully sometimes, and such a dark red came up to
his forehead when she said anything particularly sarcastic or snubbing,
that even if he deserved it I couldn't bear to see him treated so, while
he was doing everything for our pleasure. So I tried to be nice to him,
just as I have to Mr. van Buren; and, oddly enough, both times with the
same motive--to make up for Nell's naughtiness.
I could see that the Jonkheer was grateful, and liked me a little; but
the night Mr. van Buren met us at Volendam so unexpectedly Lady
MacNairne gave Nell and me both quite a shock. She said she had it on
very _good authority_ that it was entirely a mistake about Jonkheer
Brederode being in love with Nell. Perhaps he had wished to blind people
by making them think so, but it was really for _my_ sake he had
suggested to his friend, Mr. Starr, that he should be skipper of
"Lorelei."
"I won't go so far as to say," Lady MacNairne went on, "that he's
actually in love with Phyllis" (she calls us "Phyllis" and "Nell" now),
"but he was so much taken that he wished to make her acquaintance. At
present it entirely rests with Phyllis whether he goes on to fall in
love or stops at admiration."
She said this before Nell; and although Nell has behaved so hatefully to
him (except for the last three or four days, when she has been nicer),
she didn't look as much relieved as I should in her place. She went very
pink, and then very pale, with anger at Lady MacNairne for talking on
such a subject, she explained afterwards. But at the time she didn't
show any resentment against Lady MacNairne. She only laughed and said,
"Dear me, how interesting. What shall you do about it, Phil?"
"I shall show him that I am _his friend_," I answered decidedly. "I like
and admire him, and I hope I shall keep his friendship always."
"That's a pretty beginning to what may be a pretty romance, isn't it,
Tibe, darling?" asked Lady MacNairne.
I tried not to blush, but usually the more you try not to blush the more
you do. It was so with me then, just as it was when we were coming into
harbor at Volendam, and everybody said to Nell, "There is your cousin
Robert!" or "Why is your cousin Robert here?"
I was glad to stoop down and pat Tibe, who is the nicest dog I ever
knew. It's true, as Nell says, he is "geared ridiculously low"; and
having such a short nose and stick out lower jaw, when he wants to eat
or smell things, he has practically to stand on his head; also he can
never see anything that goes on under his chin. She says, too, that when
he's troubled, and a lot of lines meet together at one point in the
middle of his forehead, his face looks exactly like Clapham Junction;
and so it does. Nevertheless, he's beautiful, and has the sort of
features Old Masters gave dogs in pictures, features more like those of
people than animals, and a human expression in the eyes.
[Illustration: _I was glad to stoop down and pat Tibe_]
It is odd, Nell and I used to tell each other every thought we had,
and we talked over all the people we knew; but now, though I think a
good deal about Jonkheer Brederode, and wonder how he really does feel
toward us both, I never speak about him to Nell when I can avoid it, and
she never mentions his name to me.
I don't know what happened to make her suddenly nice to him at
Amsterdam, but something did, and she is nice still, only her manner is
different somehow. I can hardly tell what the difference is, but it is
there. At first, when we went to Spaakenberg and the other places,
before Lady MacNairne said that thing, she was agreeable to the Jonkheer
in a brilliant, bewitching, coquettish sort of way, as though she wished
after all to attract him. But since that evening at the Hotel Spaander,
in Volendam, she has been quite subdued. Jonkheer Brederode is quiet and
rather distant, too, and sometimes I think he speaks to Nell coldly, as
if he distrusted such shy signs of friendliness as she still shows.
Now, it seems to me that he and Mr. van Buren and Mr. Starr are three
friends worth having, not just the accidental sort of friends
("friendines" Nell calls that kind) who happen to be your friends
because you were thrown with them somewhere, and you would not miss them
dreadfully if by-and-by you drifted apart. They seem ones you were
_destined_ to meet, just as much as you are destined to be born, and to
die; friends intended to be in your life and never go out of it. I
scarcely knew in the beginning of our acquaintance which of the three I
liked best; and now that I _do_ know, I'm equally nice to them all,
because one should do as one would be done by, and I love to have people
nice to me.
Mr. van Buren has been with us the last two days, and I can see that he
watches his friend and me, if we chance to be together. I should like to
know if he, too, has the idea that Jonkheer Brederode cares about me,
and, if so, whether he wonders how it's possible for any man to admire
me more than Nell, who is so beautiful and brilliant and amusing? I
can't help being flattered that such an interesting person as the
Jonkheer _should_ like my society better than Nell's, though I can
hardly believe it's true. But somehow it would be nice to have Mr. van
Buren believe it, as then he would be obliged to think me quite a
fascinating girl, even though it probably wouldn't have occurred to him
before--being engaged and so on--to regard me in that light of his own
accord.
I should love to talk to Nell about all this in the sweet old way we
used to have, and I do miss a _confidante_. Lady MacNairne is a most
wonderful little woman, who manages every one of us, and we would do
anything to please her; yet I should never dream of confiding in her. I
don't know why, unless it's because she's all blue spectacles and gray
hair. And if you never can see what people are thinking about behind
their glasses, whether they're sighing over your troubles or laughing,
how can you tell them sacred things about yourself?
Sometimes I think it a pity that Mr. Starr is a man. If only he were a
girl he would be the most delightful person to have for a confidant. In
spite of his impish moods, which make him seem often like an "elfin
boy," as Jonkheer Brederode says, he's extraordinarily sympathetic. I
feel that he understands Nell and me thoroughly, and as he is good to
look at, and clever and fascinating in his manner when he chooses, I
wonder why neither of us has fallen in love with him. But very likely
Nell has. If she hasn't she has been flirting with him horribly.
XXII
It was like finding an old friend to see Mr. van Buren waiting to meet
us at quaint little Volendam. He explained that Freule Menela had gone
to Brussels to pay a visit; so, hearing from me when we would arrive, he
ran out to inquire how his cousin was getting on. When his fiancee came
back, he said, he would bring her and his sisters to see us.
Our first sight of Volendam was at sunset. Everything seemed so
beautiful, and I felt so happy walking up to the hotel where we were to
spend the night, that I should have liked to sing. Great clouds had
boiled up out of the west; but underneath, a wonderful, almost
supernatural light streamed over the sea. The sky was indigo, and the
water a sullen lead color; but along the horizon blazed a belt of gold,
and the sails on a fleet of fishing-boats were scarlet, like a bed of
red geraniums blooming in the sea.