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."

In any case, they stayed so long that we were able to visit a shop near
by, and come back, before they reappeared. It was a nice shop, where
sweets and cakes were sold, especially the rich treacle "cookies," for
which Gouda is celebrated. There was much gold-bright brass; there were
jars and boxes painted curiously; and we were served by an apple-cheeked
old lady in a white cap, whom Miss Rivers and the Chaperon thought
adorable. We bought _hopjes_ as well as cookies, because they wanted to
make acquaintance with the national sweets of Holland; and afterwards,
when Miss Van Buren was given some, she pronounced them nothing but "the
caramellest caramels" she had ever tasted.

She and Starr had developed a pleasant private understanding, which
comprised jokes too subtle to be understood by outsiders; and as the
Mariner and I were shoulder to shoulder for a moment on our way back to
the boat, he gave me a look charged with meaning.

"Who laughs last, laughs best," he quoted; and inwardly I could not but
agree, though I shrugged my shoulders.

Tibe attracted enormous attention in Gouda. As we walked along shady
streets, lit by the clear shining of canals, children ran after us as at
Hamlin they ran after the Pied Piper. If for one instant the strangers
paused to study a beautiful, carved door, or to peer into the window of
an antiquary's at blue and white jars, or to gaze up at the ferocious
head of a Turk over a chemist's shop, or to laugh at a house with
window-blinds painted in red and white diamonds, a crowd of flaxen heads
collected round us, little hands fluttered over the dog's wrinkled head
as butterfl