hing a dirty habit. They say they are clean, and
so, of course, they don't need to bathe."

"That makes them seem more like birds than ever," exclaimed Nell; "their
clothes are only plumage. I think of them as real people living real
lives. It's true, Marken's a theater, three thousand meters long and a
thousand meters wide, and you pay the actors for your seats. The harbor
itself isn't half as picturesque as Spaakenberg, with its crowding masts
and brown haze of fishing-nets; but the people are worth paying for."

"Tourists like ourselves have spoiled them; they were genuine once," I
said. "Probably Spaakenberg, which is so unsophisticated now, will be
like Marken one day; and even at Volendam, though the people have kept
their heads (which shows they have a sense of humor), they're not
unaware of their artistic value.

"They look down on the islanders as theatrical; but it's partly
jealousy. Marken has a history, you know; it was once connected with the
mainland, but that was as long ago as the thirteenth century, and ever
since the inhabitants have prided themselves on their old customs and
costumes. They're proud of the length of time they've dared to be
Protestant; and no Marken man would dream of crossing to Papist Volendam
for a wife, though Volendam's celebrated for beautiful girls. Nor would
any of the 'fierce, tropical birds,' as you call them, exchange their
island roost for the mainland, although Marken, in times of flood, is a
most uncomfortable perch, and the birds have to go about in boats. But
here we come to Volendam, and you'll be able to make up your mind which
of the two fishing-villages is more interesting."

We had crossed the short expanse of sea, and passing a small lighthouse
were entering a square harbor lined with fishing-boats. Stoutly built,
solid fishing-boats they were, meant for stormy weather; and their metal
pennons, which could never droop in deadest calm, flew bravely, all in
the same direction, like flags in a company of lances in an old
Froissart picture.

"Is Volendam celebrated for tall men as well as beautiful girls?" asked
Nell, as we drew near enough to see figures moving. "There are several
there, but one is almost the tallest man I ever saw--except my cousin
Robert."

"He looks singularly like your cousin Robert," added Starr, not too
joyously.

"I think it _is_ your cousin Robert," said I.

"I'm sure it is your cousin Robert," murmured Miss Rivers.

"But why is yo