o marry, so she expected to go to Rotterdam as a
nursemaid.

"It seems," said Lady MacNairne, "that Volendam girls are in demand all
over Holland, as nurses; they're so good to children and animals. But
this one won't have to go, for dear Ronny must supply her _dot_."

"Have you asked him?" I inquired.

She laughed. "No," said she. "He'll do it, though, to please me, I
know."

These things were not all she had found out. She knew that Volendam had
first been made famous twenty or thirty years ago by an artist named
Clausen, who came by accident and went away to tell all his friends. She
knew how the Hotel Spaander had been started to please the artists, and
how it had grown year by year; and all the things that people told her
she had written in a note-book which she wears dangling from a
chatelaine. It does seem odd for a Scotswoman, and one of her rank, to
be so keen about every detail of travel, that she must scribble it down
in a book, in a frantic hurry. But then, many things about Lady
MacNairne _are_ odd.

The sun was blazing that morning, but a wind had come up in the night,
and beaten the waves into froth. The dark sea-line stretched unevenly
along the horizon, and there were no fishing-boats to be seen. All were
snugly nestled in harbor, with their gay pennants just visible over the
pointed roofs of the houses; and we had an exciting breakfast on the
balcony, because, though it wasn't cold, the tablecloths and napkins
flapped wildly in the wind, like big white rings of frightened swans.

Jonkheer Brederode had planned to go northward, skirting the coast to
see two more Dead Cities of the Zuider Zee, Hoorn and Enkhuisen, and cut
across the sea to Stavoren on the other side, to enter the Frisian
Meers. But now he refused to take us that way. The men might go, if they
liked, he said, and there really wasn't much danger; but in such rough
weather he couldn't allow women to run the risk in "Lorelei."

"But it wouldn't be in 'Lorelei,' Lady MacNairne put in. 'Lorelei' has
ceased to exist."

Nell grew pink and I think I grew pale. It was an awful shock to hear
her speak so calmly about the loss of our dear boat, of which we have
grown so fond.

"Ceased to exist!" I repeated, cold all over. "Has she _gone under_?"

"Only under a coat of paint," said Mr. Starr, hurriedly. "You know, Miss
Van Buren consented to humor my aunt, who thought the name unlucky, by
rechristening the boat 'Mascotte,' so I did it mys