t be called the smoker's complete outfit--a pipe, tobacco, a
pricker with which to clean the tube, a silver net for protecting the
bowl, and a box of the strongest brimstone matches.

A true Dutchman, you must remember, is rarely without his pipe on any
possible occasion. He may for a moment neglect to breathe, but when the
pipe is forgotten, he must be dying indeed. There were no such sad cases
here. Wreaths of smoke were rising from every possible quarter. The more
fantastic the smoke wreath, the more placid and solemn the smoker.

Look at those boys and girls on stilts! That is a good idea. They can
see over the heads of the tallest. It is strange to see those little
bodies high in the air, carried about on mysterious legs. They have
such a resolute look on their round faces, what wonder that nervous
old gentlemen with tender feet wince and tremble while the long-legged
little monsters stride past them.

You will read in certain books that the Dutch are a quiet people--so
they are generally. But listen! Did you ever hear such a din? All made
up of human voices--no, the horses are helping somewhat, and the fiddles
are squeaking pitifully (how it must pain fiddles to be tuned!), but
the mass of the sound comes from the great vox humana that belongs to a
crowd.

That queer little dwarf going about with a heavy basket, winding in and
out among the people, helps not a little. You can hear his shrill cry
above all the other sounds, "Pypen en tabac! Pypen en tabac!"

Another, his big brother, though evidently some years younger, is
selling doughnuts and bonbons. He is calling on all pretty children far
and near to come quickly or the cakes will be gone.

You know quite a number among the spectators. High up in yonder
pavilion, erected upon the border of the ice, are some persons whom
you have seen very lately. In the center is Madame van Gleck. It is her
birthday, you remember; she has the post of honor. There is Mynheer van
Gleck, whose meerschaum has not really grown fast to his lips--it only
appears so. There are Grandfather and Grandmother, whom you met at the
Saint Nicholas fete. All the children are with them. It is so mild, they
have brought even the baby. The poor little creature is swathed very
much after the manner of an Egyptian mummy, but it can crow with delight
and, when the band is playing, open and shut its animated mittens in
perfect time to the music.

Grandfather, with his pipe and spectacles and f