Part 11

"It wouldn't be fair to make use of it except in extreme cases," I said. "All these lighter and bargemen whom we see have their living to get. Time's money to them, while it's pleasure to us. It's right that they should get through ahead, when they're first comers; but there may be occasions when we shall need our advantage; and till then I'll keep the flag up my sleeve, with your permission."

"I never thought to feel so _safe_ on a motor-boat," exclaimed Miss Rivers. "Since we made up our minds to come--or rather Nell made up hers--I've added another prayer to those I've been accustomed to say for years--that we shouldn't blow up, or, if we _had_ to blow up, that we shouldn't realize long enough beforehand to be frightened; and that we should blow into quite little pieces which couldn't know anything about it afterwards. But now I've such a peaceful feeling, I have to make myself remember that any instant may be my last."

"I wouldn't try," said Miss Van Buren. "I suppose, when one thinks of it, worse things could happen to one on a motor-boat than in a motor-car, because there's water all round; but it seems so heavenly restful, rather like motoring in heaven might be, and no frightened horses, or barking dogs, or street children to worry you."

"I pity people on steamboats, just as the other day, when we motored, I pitied people in stuffy black trains," said Miss Rivers. "But I don't pity the people on lighters and barges. Don't they look delightful? I should love to live on that one with the curly-tailed red lion on the prow, and the green house with white embroidered curtains and flower-pots, and sweet little china animals in the windows. It's called 'Anna Maria,' and oh, it's worked by a _motor_!"

"Lots of them are, nowadays," I said. "They're easy to rig up, and save work. I happen to know 'Anna Maria,' and the lady she's named after, who lives on board and thinks herself the happiest woman on earth--or water. There she goes, on her way to the kitchen, with her baby in her arms. Pretty creatures both, aren't they?"

"Pictures!" cried Miss Rivers; and her stepsister, who at the moment was being particularly nice to the Mariner (I fancy by way of showing the Outcast how nice she can be--to others), glanced up from a map of Holland, which Starr had opened, across his knees. "It's like a very young Madonna and Child, painted by a Dutch master. I wish you could introduce us."

"Perhaps I will, when we come back this way," said I. "You shall go on board and have tea with Anna Maria and her baby, and the husband too, who's as good-looking as the rest of the family. They would be delighted, and proud to show off their floating home, which saved Anna Maria's life."

"How? It sounds like a story."

"So it is--a humble romance. Anna Maria's the daughter of a bargeman, and was born and brought up on a barge. When she was seventeen and keeping house-boat for her father (the mother died when she was a child) the poor man had an accident, and was drowned. There wasn't much money saved up for Anna Maria, so the barge was sold, and she had to live on dry land, and learn how to be a dressmaker. She was as miserable as a goldfish would be if you took it out of its bowl and laid it on the table. In a few months she'd fallen into a decline, and though, just at that time, she met a dashing young chauffeur, who took a fancy to her pretty, pale face, even love wasn't strong enough to save her. The chauffeur, poor fellow, thought there was no flower in the garden of girls as sweet as his white snowdrop. He felt, if he could only afford to buy a lighter for himself, they might marry, and the bride's life might be saved. But it was out of the question, and perhaps the idyl would have ended in tragedy, had he not confided his troubles to his master. That master, as it happened, had a lighter which he'd fitted up with a motor. He'd used it all summer, and got his money's worth of fun out of it; so when he heard the story, he told the chauffeur he would give him the thing as it stood, for a wedding present, and it must be rechristened 'Anna Maria.'

"What a lamb of a master! I quite love him!" exclaimed Miss Van Buren, before she remembered that she was talking to One beyond the Pale.

"There wasn't much merit; he was tired of his toy," I answered carelessly; but I felt my face grow red.

"I don't believe it a bit. He just said that," cried Miss Rivers. "I should love him too. Is he a Dutchman?"

"I shouldn't be surprised if he was half English, half Dutch," remarked Starr, good-naturedly.

"Or if he was making our wheel go round now," finished Aunt Fay, pulling Tibe's ear.

"Oh!" said Miss Van Buren, and buried her nose in the map.

She and Starr were tracing, or pretending to trace, our route to Gouda, whither we were going, and where we expected to lunch. Hurriedly she threw herself into a discussion with him as to whether we were now in the Lek or the Maas. Reason said Maas, but the map said Lek, though it was a thing, thought the lady, about which there could be no two opinions; it must be one or the other.

As a matter of fact, there are many opinions, and as I knew the history of the dispute, after all she had to turn to me, and listen. I talked to Starr, and at her, explaining how only experts could tell one river from another here, and even experts differed.

"Our waters are split up into so many channels that they're as difficult to separate one from the other as the twisted strands in a plait of hair," said I. "It was like Napoleon's colossal cheek, wasn't it, to claim the Netherlands for France, because they were formed from the alluvium of French rivers?"

Instantly the Chaperon ceased to admire Tibe's new and expensive collar, and opened a silver chain bag, also glittering with newness, which she had in her lap. From this she brought forth a note-book of Russia leather, and began to write with a stylographic pen, which had dangled in a gold case on a richly furnished chatelaine. This little lady had "done" herself well since yesterday.

"I shall take notes of everything," she announced. "That bit about Napoleon goes down first."

"Surely you knew, Aunt Fay," said the Mariner, with a warning in his lifted eyebrows.

"I don't know anything about Holland, except that it's flat and wet," she replied, defying him, as she can afford to do, now that, once an aunt, she must be always an aunt, as far as this tour is concerned. "It's not the fashion in _my_ part of Scotland for ladies of position to know things about foreign countries they've not visited. It's considered frumpish, and though I may not be as young as I once was, I am _not_ frumpish."

She certainly is not. The real Lady MacNairne does not dress as smartly, or have such an air of Parisian elegance as this mysterious little upstart has put on since assuming her part. Save for the gray hair and the hideous glasses, there could scarcely be a daintier figure than that of the Mariner's false Aunt Fay.

"However," she went on, "my doctor has recommended a tonic, and I shouldn't wonder if a spice of information might be a mental stimulant. Anyhow, I intend to try it, and ask questions of everybody about everything."

All this she said with a quaint, bird-like air, and I began to be impressed with the curious fascination which emanates from this strange, small person. I am in her secret. I know she is a fraud, though of all else concerning her I am in ignorance--perhaps blissful ignorance. I have none too much respect for the little wretch, despite her gray hairs; yet, somehow, I felt at this moment that I was _on her side_. I was afraid that, if she asked any favor of me, I should run to do it; and I could imagine myself being ass enough to quail before the mite's Liliputian displeasure. As for Starr, I could see that he dared not say his soul was his own, if she laid claim to it. He might raise his eyebrows, or telegraph with his eyelids, but a certain note in that crisp, youthful-sounding voice, would reduce him to complete subjection, in what our German cousins call an _augenblick_. No wonder that Tiberius--who looks as if he could play lion to her martyr without a single rehearsal--fawns, crawls, and wriggles like the merest puppy at the lifting of her tiny finger, when she wills--as is seldom--to be obeyed by him. All must feel the same queer power in the woman, be we dogs or men.

"Well, I'm glad you got your country back from Napoleon," said Miss Rivers. "Nobody, except the Dutch, could have made it so cozy, so radiantly clean and comfortable. _Dear_ little Holland!"

I laughed. "Dear little Holland! Yes, that's the way you all pet and patronize our Hollow Land, and chuck it under the chin, so to speak. You think of it as a nice little toy country, to come and play with, and laugh at for its quaintness. And why shouldn't you? But it strikes us Netherlanders as funny, that point of view of yours, if we have a sense of humor--and we have, sometimes! You see, we've a good memory for our past. We know what we're built upon.

"Think of the making of Holland, though I grant you it's difficult, when you look at this peaceful landscape; but try to call up something as different as darkness is to light. Forget the river, and the houses, and the pretty branching canals, and see nothing but marshes, wild and terrible, with sluggish rivers crawling through mud-banks to the sea, beaten back by fierce tides, to overflow into oozy meers and stagnant pools. Think of raging winds, never still, the howling of seas, and the driving of pitiless rains. No other views but those, and no definite forms rising out of the water save great forest trees, growing so densely that no daylight shines through the black roof of branches. Imagine the life of our forefathers, who fled here from an existence so much more dreadful that they clung to the mud-banks and fought for them, a never-ending battle with the sea. That was the beginning of the Netherlands, as it was of Venice, and the fugitives built as the Venetians built, on piles, with wattles. If you've seen Venice, you'll often be reminded of it here. And what rest have we had since those beginnings? If not fighting the sea, we had to fight Spain and England, and even now our battles aren't over. They never will be, while we keep our heads above water. Every hour of every day and night some one is fighting to save the Netherlands from the fate of Atlantis. While her men fight she's safe; but if they rested, this 'peaceful, comfortable little country' would be blotted out under the waters, as so many provinces vanished under the Zuider Zee in the thirteenth century, and others, at other times, have been swept away."

"Do you think our motor-boat could ride on the flood, and drag 'Waterspin,' if any of the most important dykes or dams happened to burst?" inquired the Chaperon. "I hope so, for what you've been saying makes one feel exactly like a female member of the Ark party."

Everybody laughed; but her joke pricked me to shame of my harangue.

"Nothing will 'happen to burst,'" I assured her. "We Dutch don't lose our sleep over such 'ifs.' Every country has something to dread, hasn't it? Drought in India, earthquakes in Italy, cyclones and blizzards in America, and so on. Our menace is water; but then, it's our friend as well as foe, and we've subdued it to our daily uses, as every canal we pass can prove. Besides, there's something else we're able to do with it. The popular belief is that, at Amsterdam, one key is kept in the central arsenal which can instantly throw open sluices to inundate the whole country in case we should be in danger of invasion."

"But you'd drown your land and yourselves, as well as the enemy," exclaimed Aunt Fay.

"Better drown than lose the liberty we've paid for with so much blood. The old spirit's in us still, I hope, though we may seem slow-going, comfort-loving fellows in everyday life. When we make up our minds to do a thing, we're prepared to suffer for the sake of carrying it through."

Again I met Miss Van Buren's eyes, and I think she realized that I am typically Dutch.

XI

Rotterdam lay far behind us now. We'd passed the busy, crowded water-thoroughfares, as thickly lined with barges and lighters as streets with houses, and were nearing the point where the river, disguised as the Issel, turns with many curves toward Gouda. We had a few whiffs from brickfields and other ugly industries that scar the banks, but the windings of the Issel bore us swiftly to regions of grassy meadows, and waving reeds, threatening sometimes to lose us in strange no-thoroughfares of water more like separate lakes and round ponds, than the flowing reaches of a river.

Here the despised Albatross was worth his weight in gold. In charge of a skipper not familiar with every foot of the water-road, "Lorelei" and "Waterspin" would have been aground more than once. Even that irresponsible head-among-the-stars Mariner guessed at the snares we avoided, and flung me a word of appreciation.

"You're earning your salt," said he, "and you shall have a little at Gouda."

But as to Gouda, a struggle was going on between my inclination and my conscience. It was my duty as skipper to take "Lorelei" through the town that she might be ready to start from the other side after luncheon. There would be delays at swing-bridges, and time would be lost if the party remained on board, and tried to see the place afterwards. If I trusted Hendrik to act as captain and chauffeur in one, something would go wrong, and I should be blamed. Nevertheless, I did not relish the thought of seeing Starr march off in triumph with the ladies while I remained behind to work, and lunch on a cheese sandwich. I was tempted to shift responsibility upon Hendrik's shoulders to-day, and on other days to come; but as we slowed up for the sluice, or lock, something inside me would have no self-indulgence. To be sure, I am playing my part for a purpose, but while I play it, I must play well; and it was the conscientious captain who advised his passengers to get out, told them how to find the best inn, and what they were to see when they had lunched.

"The hotel is in the Markt Platz," I said, "and you must have a good look at the old Weigh House while you're on the spot. It will be your first Weigh House, and it's really a good one, with a splendid relief by Eggers, and a delightful outside staircase. Then there's the Stadhuis, too, and if you care for old stained glass, the work of the brothers Crabeth in the Groote Kerk----"

"But aren't you going with us?" asked Miss Rivers.

I explained why I could not.

"Oh dear, and we can't speak Dutch!" she sighed. "Fancy a procession straggling through a strange town, wanting to know everything, and not able to utter a word."

"Nonsense, Phil, we can get on perfectly well," said Miss Van Buren, mutinous-eyed. "I've learned things out of the phrase-book. You can't expect a skipper to be a guide as well."

This was a stab, and I think it pleased her; but I laughed.

"I shall often be able to go with you, I hope, Miss Rivers," I said. "In many places the boat will start from the same spot where she gets in; then I shall be free and at your service."

I had to see them off without me, Miss Van Buren walking with Starr; and the only one who threw me a backward glance was Tibe. But the task I had before me was easier than I expected. There were fewer barges in waiting than on most days. Here and there a tip to a bridge-master (a gulden stuck conspicuously in my eye, like a silver monocle, just long enough to suggest a different destination) worked wonders, and in an hour I had piloted "Lorelei" through the water-streets of Gouda, ready to take her passengers again on the Leiden side. Standing at the wheel, I had eaten a sandwich and drunk a glass of beer brought by Hendrik, so there was no need to seek food in the town. The others, having finished lunch, would have begun sight-seeing, and if I strolled to the Groote Kerk, it was just possible I might find something even more desirable than the exquisite glass.

"They'll have saved the church for the last," I said to myself. "I should like to see her face while she looks at the Haarlem window."

I could not have calculated more exactly, had we made an appointment. As I arrived within sight of the verger's door, I saw the party going in. There was a moment's pause, and then all save one disappeared. That figure was Starr's, and he was left in charge of the dog.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed, "you're just in time."

"Yes," said I. "Clever, wasn't I?"

"I mean in time to play with this brute, while I go in. He'll be pleased with the exchange; besides, you've seen the church and I haven't."

"I've never seen it in such companionship."

"Callous-hearted Albatross! You'll unconsecrate the church for Miss Van Buren. Can't you see she'll have none of you?"

"I shall need the more time to make her change her mind. Every minute counts. Au revoir. Don't let Tibe escape, or I pity you with your _aunt_."

"I wish he'd jump into the nearest canal. Look here, Gouda's a fraud. We've had a loathsome lunch--cold ham and pappy bread--with paper napkins, and the whole meal served on one plate, by a female even my aunt was afraid of. There isn't a cow within miles, much less a cow with a coat----"

"Perhaps one may pass while you wait. Ta, ta. Your turn will come soon." And I left him glaring at Tibe and muttering threats of revenge against me.

All the windows of the Gouda church are beautiful, but the Haarlem window would warm the coldest heart, and I was not surprised to find Miss Van Buren already gazing at it, a lovely light streaming through the old glass upon her uplifted face. She is a girl to find out the best things at once, by instinct.

There she stood, lost in delight, and when I, assuming more boldness than I felt, walked quietly across the church and stopped close behind her, she threw just enough of a look at the new-comer to see that it was a tallish man in gray.

"Is that you, Mr. Starr?" she asked; but sure that no stranger would approach so near, and believing me at a safe distance, she took the answer for granted. "What a fairyland in glass there is in this church!" she went on, joyously. "What skies, and backgrounds of medieval castles and towers, and what luminous colors. I'd love to be one of those little red and yellow men looking out of the tower at the battle going on below, among the queer ships wallowing in the crisp waves, and live always in that fantastic glass country. I want to know what's inside the tower, don't you? Which man will you choose to be?"

"The one on your right side," said I, quietly.

Then she whisked round, and blushed with vexation.

"That you could _never_ be," she flung at me, and walked away; but I followed.

"Won't you tell me why?" I asked. "What have I done to offend you?"

"If you don't know, I couldn't make you understand."

"Perhaps it's you who don't understand. But you will, some day."

"Oh, I've no curiosity."

"Am I spoiling your trip?"

"I'm not going to let you."

"Thanks. Then you'd better let me help to make it pleasanter. I can, in many ways."

"I don't need help in enjoying Holland. I intend to enjoy it every instant, in--in----"

"Won't you finish?"

"In spite of you."

"I vow it shall be partly because of me."

"You're very fond of vowing."

Then, at last, I knew where I stood. I knew that Robert _had_ said something.

Into the midst of this crisis dropped Miss Rivers. No doubt she had seen the expression on our faces, and intervened in pure good-heartedness to snatch me as a brand from the burning; for she threw herself into talk about the church, crying out against the hideous havoc we Protestants had wrought with whitewash and crude woodwork.

"I'm not Catholic, not a bit Catholic, though I may be a little high church; but I _couldn't_ have spoiled everything just for the sake of getting a place to worship in, cheap, without having to put up a new building. Why, it's like _murder_!"

Then my lady flashed out at her unexpectedly, and saved me an answer.

"Where's your imagination, Phil? It must have gone wool-gathering, or you could put yourself into the place of these people and see why they tore away the pictures and statues, and hid every bit of color with whitewash. I love beauty, but I would have done as they did. Color in churches was to them the life-blood of their nearest and dearest, splashed upon the walls. Those statues, those pictured saints they pulled down or covered up, had smiled on persecution. They had to have a kind of frenzied house-cleaning to get out the smell of incense. Oh, I know how they felt when they did it, as if I'd been here myself with a broom full of whitewash."

"Perhaps some ancestress of yours was here, and did some sweeping," said I. But it was a mistake for me to speak. She froze in an instant, and suggested that if everybody had seen enough, we should go out and give "poor Mr. Starr a chance."

"I'll stop and show him the Haarlem window," said she. And I hated Starr. Perhaps that was the state of mind she wished to create; at all events her eyes retained the exaltation of the whitewashing. Nor should I wonder if those two enjoyed the thought that I was kept waiting outside, as much as they enjoyed roaming together in "glass country."