the transparent white caps that fold back and flare out
over the ears like a soaring bird's wings. Perhaps it was partly the
effect of the light, but the young girls in their straight dark bodices,
with flowered handkerchief-chemisettes, full blue skirts--pieced with
pale-tinted stuff from waist to hips--and those flying, winged caps,
looked angelic.

They walked with their arms round each other's waists, or else they
knitted with gleaming needles. Quite toddling creatures had blue yokes
over their shoulders, and carried splashing pails of water as big as
themselves, or they had round tots of babies tucked under their arms.
But whatever they were doing--men, women, girls, boys, and babies--all
stopped doing it instantly when they spied Tibe. I don't believe they
knew he was a dog; and though he has invariably had a _succes fou_
wherever we have been, I never saw people so mad about him as at
Volendam.

The Jonkheer says there are nearly three thousand inhabitants, and half
of them were after Tibe on the dyke as we walked toward the hotel. The
news of him seemed to fly, as they say tidings travel through the
Indian bazaars. Faces appeared in windows; then quaint figures popped
out of doors, and Tibe was actually mobbed. A procession trailed after
him, shouting, laughing, calling.

Tibe was flattered at first, and preened himself for admiration; but
presently he became worried, then disgusted, and ran before the storm of
voices and wooden shoes. We were all glad to get him into the hotel.

Such a quaint hotel, with incredibly neat, box-like rooms, whose
varnished, green wooden walls you could use for mirrors. I didn't know
that it was famous, but it seems that it is; also the landlord and his
many daughters. Every artist who has ever come to Volendam has painted a
picture for the big room which you enter as you walk in from the street,
and I saw half a dozen which I should love to own.

It was fun dining out-of-doors on a big, covered balcony looking over
the Zuider Zee, and seeing the horizon populous with fishing-boats. In
the falling dusk they looked like the flitting figures of tall, graceful
ladies moving together hand in hand, with flowing skirts; some in
gossiping knots, others hovering proudly apart in pairs like princesses.

It is wonderful how our chaperon makes friends with people, and gets
them to do as she likes. If she were young and pretty it wouldn't be
strange--at least, where men are concerned; bu