triking costume, or a horse in a blue coat,
made a spot of color in the pearl and primrose light, under clouds
changeful as opal; and each separate, dainty picture of farmhouse, or
lock, or group of flags and reeds had its double in the water, lying
bright and clear as a painting under glass, until our vandal boat came
to shiver picture after picture.

As we moved, our progress not only sent an advance wave racing along the
dyke, but tossed up a procession of tiny rainbow fountains, as if we
threw handfuls of sapphires and diamonds into the water in passing.

Sometimes we had glimpses of mysterious villages, a line of
pink-and-green houses stretching along the canal banks below the level
of the water, shielded by rows of trees trained, in the Dutch way, to
grow flat and wide, screening the windows as an open fan screens the
sparkling eyes of a woman who peeps behind its sticks.

These half-hidden dwelling-places inspired Starr to launch out in a
disquisition upon some of the characteristics he has observed among my
people.

"Funny thing," said Starr, "the Dutch are a queer mixture of reserve and
curiosity. You don't see a town or village where the windows aren't
covered with curtains, and protected by squares of blue netting. But
though the beings behind those windows are so anxious to live in
private, they're consumed with curiosity about what's going on outside.
For fear of missing something, they stick up looking-glasses on the
walls to tell them what happens in the street. 'Seeing, unseen,' is the
motto that ought to be written over the house doors."

"The Lady of Shalott started the fashion," said Nell.

As we drew nearer to Broek-in-Waterland, the landscape, already fragrant
with daintiness, began to tidy itself anew, out of deference to Broek's
reputation. The smallest and rudest wooden houses on the canal banks had
frilled their windows with stiff white curtains and tied them with
ribbon. Railings had painted themselves blue or green, and smartened
their tips with white. Even the rakes, hoes, and implements of labor had
got themselves up in red and yellow, and green buckets had wide-open
scarlet mouths.

As we walked to the village, after mooring "Lorelei" at the bridge, the
girls laughed and chatted together, but involuntarily they hushed their
voices on entering the green shadow of the little town under its
slow-marching procession of great trees; and the spell of somnolent
silence seized them.

I th