er town than Broek-in-Waterland, but not as interesting,"
said the Chaperon, looking back disparagingly in the direction of
Monnikendam, "nor as clean. I saw five bits of paper in as many streets,
and a woman we met didn't appear at all inclined to commit suicide
because she'd desecrated the pavement by upsetting a pail of milk:
whereas in Broek she'd have been hauled off to prison. Each house in
Broek looked like a model in jewelry, and the whole effect was like a
_presepio_ cut in pasteboard; but the Monnikendam houses are big enough
for people to lie out straight in, when they go to bed, which seems
quite commonplace. Except for that church tower, and a few doorways, and
the wonderful costumes, and the shoe-shop where they sell nothing but
sabots, I don't see why we bothered to stop at Monnikendam."

"I thought you were keen to visit the Dead Cities of the Zuider Zee,"
said I.

She stared at me as blankly as if she had not been prophesying my doom a
little while ago.

"What's that got to do with Monnikendam?" she demanded.

"Only that Monnikendam _is_ one of the Dead Cities; your first," I
explained; but she cried incredulously----

"Monnikendam a Dead City of the Zuider Zee? _Say_ it isn't true."

"I'm afraid it is."

"Oh, then I _am_ disappointed! I thought we should come to the Dead
Cities along the shore of the sea. That we'd see grass-grown streets
lined with empty houses fallen half to pieces, and that perhaps if the
water were clear we could look down, down, and spy steeples and ruined
castles glimmering at the bottom. Won't some be like that?"

"Not one," I said. "They won't be any deader than Monnikendam, which was
once the playground of merchant princes. I thought it was dead enough."

"Not to please me," she answered, with the air of a Madame Defarge in
blue spectacles.

The Mariner came up before we had got into open sea. For the moment the
three ladies were occupied in watching Tibe, who had fallen asleep in
his cape, and was running with all his feet in some wild dream,
flickering in every muscle, and wrinkling his black mug into alarming
grimaces.

"Look here," said Starr, cautiously, "do you think we can paint out the
name of 'Lorelei' when we get to Volendam, or must we engage a man to do
it? Of course, if we could, it would cause less remark, especially if we
did the job in the evening or early morning."

"What! you took that idea of mine seriously?" I asked.

"Certainly. It was a br