d feel no enthusiasm for anything except lunch. But as we drove
through crowded streets to a hotel, it was interesting to pass
warehouses where cheeses were being stored. The porters with the
bright hats (worn to denote their ancient guilds) were standing on the
pavement tossing up cheeses, like conjurors keeping a lot of oranges in
the air. Men above, standing in open lofts, caught the golden balls as
they flew up, and stored them among crowds of others that seemed to
illuminate the dim background like half-extinguished lanterns glowing in
the dark.

We lunched at an old-fashioned hotel with enormous rooms; and then, as
we had time, we wound through the chief streets of the Dead City,
stopping now and then to study _bas-reliefs_ on ancient houses, telling
of stirring events when the name of Hoorn sounded loud in the world.

There was one stone picture of many old ships in commotion among
impossible waves, and the description was all in one
word--"Bossuzeeslag." It seemed very impressive to sit staring up at it
while Mr. van Buren told how "we" whipped the Spanish ship "Inquisition"
after thirty hours' fighting on the sand-bank, and all the people of
Hoorn assembled to look on.

After seeing the house where Graaf Bossu was kept prisoner our interest
in the Hoorn of long ago was kindled to a blaze. Mr. van Buren proposed
taking us to the Museum, so we all went, except poor Mr. Starr, who sat
in front of the handsome building in the motor-car, on "dog duty," as he
calls it.

I liked the reproduction of an old Dutch inn, and the plans of the Dead
Cities as they used to be; but the paintings of determined-looking
burgomasters in black with ruffles and conical hats, were pathetic. The
men in their short frilled trousers and high boots, thought themselves
so important, poor dears, with their piteous forefingers proudly
pointing to maps and specifications, that it was sad to see them still
doing it when all their plans had come to nothing long ago. We admired
Hoorn as it is, but it would break their hearts if they could see it,
given up to cheese, and only of importance in the cheese world.

We were not in the Museum long, but Mr. Starr had suffered tortures
meanwhile, and looked ten years older when we came out. Tibe had been
asleep on the floor of the _tonneau_ while we were in the market-place
before lunch, so nobody had seen him. But, deserted by his mistress, he
sat up in the car to look for her, and the passers-by c