d you're a Dutchman," said she.

"Why? Because I know the ropes?"

"No. Because you'd die rather than give up anything you've set out to
do."

It was now as if the apple-cheeked old prophetess had bewitched the
country. The monarchs of the forest fled away and left us in the open,
with a narrow strip of road between a canal loaded with water-lilies and
low-lying meadows of yellow grain.

The landscape was charming, and the air balmy with summer; but with the
first horse we met all peace was over.

Here were no longer the _blase_ beasts of a sophisticated world. Animals
of this region had never seen a town larger than Amersfoort. A motor-car
was to them as horrifying an object as a lion escaping from his cage at
a circus.

Horses reared, hay-carts swayed, peasants shrieked maledictions or
shook fists; but always, crawling at snail's pace, we managed to scrape
past without accident. Sometimes we frightened cows; and a couple of
great yellow dogs, drawing a cart which contained two peasant girls in
costume, swore canine oaths against the car.

[Illustration: _A couple of great yellow dogs, drawing a cart, swore
canine oaths against the car_]

"Oh, mercy, we've just passed a sign in Dutch, 'Motors forbidden'!"
cried Nell.

"Well, we've passed it," said I. "Perhaps it meant that side road; it's
narrower than ours. Let's think it did."

So we gave it the benefit of the doubt and fled on, until in less than
an hour we flashed into a fishing-village. They all cried, "Spaakenberg
and the Zuider Zee!" But as it was not Spaakenberg, I gave them only a
flashing glimpse of masts and dark blue water.

Half a mile's drive along a canal, and we came to our destination. And
of Spaakenberg the first thing we saw was a forest of masts, with nets
like sails, brown, yet transparent as spider-webs. Fifty sturdy
fishing-boats were grouped together in a basin of quiet water within
sight of the Zuider Zee, which calls to men on every clear night, "the
fish are waiting."

I stopped; and as we counted the boats, the whole able-bodied population
of Spaakenberg issued from small, peak-roofed houses to see what monster
made so odd a noise. By twenties and by thirties they came, wonderful
figures, and the air rang with the music of sabots on klinker.

There were young women carrying tiny round babies; there were old women
who had all they could do to carry themselves; there were little girls
gravely knitting their brothers' stockings