ink no one coming into Broek-in-Waterland could escape that spell.
There is no noise there. Even the trees whisper, and not the most badly
brought up dog would dare to bark aloud.

"Have you noticed," Nell asked me softly, "that you never hear _sounds_
in dreams? No matter how exciting things are, there's never any noise;
everything seems to be acted in pantomime. Well, it's like that here.
We're dreaming Broek-in-Waterland as we have other places."

"And dreaming each other, too?"

"I shouldn't wonder."

"Then I hope nothing will happen to wake me up."

Just then we arrived at a dream curiosity-shop which gave her an excuse
not to answer.

On the edge of the town it stands, one of the first among the little old
houses, which look as if they had been made to accommodate well-to-do
dolls of a century or two ago. Modestly retired in a doll's garden, with
an imitation stalactite grotto, and groups of miniature statues among
box-tree animals, its door is always open to welcome visitors and
allure them. Within, vague splashes of color against a dim background;
blues that mean old Delft; yellow that means ancient brass; and all
gleaming in the dusk with the strange values that flowers gain in
twilight.

I knew that Nell and Phyllis and the Chaperon would not pass by, and
they didn't.

There was a man inside, but he did not ask us to buy anything. He had
the air of a host, pleased to show his treasures, and the Chaperon
feared that I was playing some joke when I encouraged them to invade the
quaint and pretty rooms.

"I don't believe it _is_ a shop," said she. "It's just an eccentric
little house, that belongs to somebody who's away--a dear old maiden
lady, perhaps, a collector of antiques, for her own pleasure. This man's
her caretaker."

"She's strayed into some other dream, maybe," suggested Nell. "She's
lost her way, poor old dear, and can never find it again, to come back,
so that's why the things are for sale--if they really _are_. But listen,
all the clocks in the house are talking to each other about her. _They_
expect her to come, and that's why they keep on ticking, through the
years, to make the time seem short in passing; for some of them must
have had their hundredth birthday, long, long ago."

"He's a faithful caretaker then, to keep everything in such good order,"
said Phyllis. "But perhaps he believes what the clocks are saying about
the old lady coming back. He's got the sweetest little clean cur