Part 25 (1/2)

In spite of this fact I had little time to spare, though it appeared that _en route_ to the boat a delay was caused by Tibe jumping into a cab with two elderly ladies from Boston, who, so far from reciprocating his overtures, nearly swooned with terror, and had to be soothed and sustained by the entire party.

The ca.n.a.l that leads from Leiden to Katwyk-aan-Zee pa.s.ses the houses of Descartes and Spinoza; and altogether the short journey by water did not lack interest, for Katwyk has become a colony of artists. Once there, we walked to the sluice where the Rhine seeks its grave in the North Sea; and as it happened that the tide was high, with a strong sh.o.r.e wind, I could show the Cyclopean defenses of our coast at their best. With the secret pleasure which I believe all men take in pointing out things to women, I explained the great series of gates through which the river pa.s.ses to its death. All were closed against the raging waves, which leaped and bellowed, demanding entrance, rearing their fierce heads twelve feet or more above the level where the Rhine lay dying. When the tide should turn, and the wild water retreat, the sluice-gates would be opened, and the river would pour sea-ward, sweeping away the ma.s.ses of sand piled up in fury by the cheated waves.

We lunched on board the ”Lorelei,” I munching abjectly on deck, on duty at the wheel, while from the cabin below came to my ears the tinkling of girls' laughter, and the merry popping of corks. In theory I was better off than Tantalus, for Tantalus had no beer or sandwiches; but, on the other hand Tantalus was not in love with a girl whose voice he could hear mingling with his rival's; so practically there was not much to choose.

Luckily I had not to bear the strain for long. I did my best yesterday, in talking of Haarlem, to awaken interest in the huge Haarlemmer-meer Polder, and its importance in the modern scheme of the Netherlands. Now my eloquence was rewarded, for they hurried through their luncheon, not that they might cheer the skipper's loneliness, but that they might miss no feature in the landscape.

We were skirting one side of the green plain which has been reclaimed from the water, converting the meer into a ”polder.” Our ca.n.a.l flowed many feet above the level of the surrounding land, so that we looked down upon men tilling, upon white-sailed boats cutting through miniature waterways as if they navigated meadows, and upon cows grazing knee-deep in mist, which rose like blowing silver spray, over the pale-green waves of gra.s.s.

These black-and-white cattle, according to Miss Van Buren, form the upper circles of the cow-world in Holland. Not only do they live up to their traditions by being cleaner and sleeker than the cows of other countries, but they know themselves to be better connected than the mere red-and-white creatures with whom they are occasionally forced to share a meadow. To show that they understand what is due to their dignity, they refuse to talk with the common herd, and stand with their backs to any red-and-white nonent.i.ty that may presume to graze near, conversing among themselves in refined monotones with the air of saying, ”Who _was_ she?”

There's little in the history of the Netherlands which Miss Van Buren does not know, for she is proud of her Dutch blood, though she won't say so before me. The others are frankly ignorant; but the Chaperon has read a book of Rider Haggard's called ”Lysbeth,” and was deeply interested in the Haarlemmer-meer, where the ”treasure” of that story lay hid; but it was news to her that the great inland sea had once sent a destructive flood to the gates of Amsterdam, and that as punishment it had been drained away. Miss Van Buren--whom I think of as ”Nell”--knew all this, including the very day in 1840 when the work was begun, and how many months the pumps had taken to drink the monstrous cup dry; but the mysterious little lady who rules us all, and is ruled by Tibe, expected to find the Haarlemmer-meer still a lake, and was disappointed to learn the meaning of ”polder.” She thought thirty-nine months too long for draining it, and was sure that in America (where she quickly added that she had ”once been”) they would have done the work in half the time.

Every one fell in love with the outskirts of Haarlem, as ”Lorelei” swam into the River Spaarne. Though the glory of the tulips was extinguished (like fairy-lamps at dawn) three months ago, the flowers of summer blazed in their stead, a brilliant mosaic of jewels.

”The Dutch don't seem a nation to have gone mad over a tulip; but perhaps they were different in the seventeenth century,” said Miss Rivers, looking at me, as if I stood to represent my people.

”And the English don't seem the kind to have lost their heads over a South Sea Bubble, but they did,” retorted Nell, as if she were defending us.

They liked the houses along the river-side, houses big and little, which look as if the front and back walls of their lower stories had been knocked out, and the s.p.a.ce filled in with gla.s.s. They were amused by the rounded awnings over the balconies, which Nell likened to the covers of giant babies' perambulators; and they laughed at the black-painted doors picked out with lines of pale green, which contrasted with a whitewashed facade.

At Haarlem I had another surprise for them, which I arranged before leaving Rotterdam. It was one which would cost nothing in trouble, little enough in money, and would give pleasure to everybody--except to my chauffeur, who is in love with my mother's French maid, and no doubt was reveling in the thought of a long holiday at Liliendaal.

When I'd brought ”Lorelei” through the bridge, and hove her to by the broad quay, there stood close at hand a handsome, dark-blue motor-car.

”What a beauty!” exclaimed Nell. ”That's much grander than Robert's.”

Then she glanced at me. ”I beg your pardon,” said she, demurely. ”I'm afraid the car my cousin has is yours.”

”So is this,” said I.

”Dear me, what is It doing here?” she demanded, sorry to have praised a possession of the enemy's.

”It's waiting to take you round Haarlem,” I replied. ”I thought it would be a nice way for you to see the place, as the suburbs are its speciality, so to speak, and motoring saves time.”

”You're a queer chap, Alb,” remarked the Mariner. ”You have such a way of keeping things up your sleeve, and springing them on one. You ought to be called 'William the Silent.'”

”Why, that's what he is called, didn't you know? Mr. van Buren told us,”

exclaimed Phyllis, and ended up her sentence with a stifled shriek which could have meant nothing but a surrept.i.tious pinch.

I would not have glanced at either of the girls for anything; but I would have given something to know how Nell was looking.

”Have you any more belongings here?” asked the Chaperon, gaily. ”Such as an ancestral castle, where you could give us another surprise feast?”

I laughed. ”As a matter of fact, I have an ancestral castle in the neighborhood. It isn't mine, but it was my ancestors', and if I can't exactly entertain you in it, I can give you tea close by at a country inn. Perhaps you've read about the Chateau of Brederode, within a drive of Haarlem?”

I saw by Nell's face that she had, but she was the only one who did not answer, and the others hadn't informed themselves of its existence.

Hendrik, helped by my chauffeur, got out the small luggage which is kept ready for sh.o.r.e duty--the Chaperon's splendidly-fitted dressing-bag making everything else look shabby--and the five of us (six with Tibe) got into the car, I taking the driver's seat.

The streets of Haarlem being too good to slight, I drove leisurely toward the heart of the old town, meaning to engage rooms and leave all belongings at the quaint Hotel Funckler, which I thought they would like better than any other; but pa.s.sing the cathedral, Miss Phyllis begged to stop, and I slowed down the car. After Gouda's wonderful gla.s.s, they would have found the Haarlem church disappointing, had it not been for the two or three redeeming features left in the cold, bare structure; the beautiful screen of open bra.s.s-work, with its base of dark wood, on which brightly-painted, mystic beasts disport themselves among the coats-of-arms of divers ancient towns; and the carved choir-stalls.