I, "and if, after he'd been given
the slip, my peppery Scotch uncle tumbled to the idea of 'Lorelei' and
'Mascotte' being one----"

"That would be reason enough for stopping at Assen," said Brederode.
"There _are_ things to see there, very good and unique things; but
ordinary tourists don't often hear about them, and if Sir Alec MacNairne
is chasing us, he'll glide by Assen without a thought."

This put a different face on the matter, and I was able to smile calmly
when Alb whetted the Angels' appetite by describing the treasures
concealed among the groves surrounding Assen. They were not exactly at
Assen, it seemed, but Assen was the starting-point, and from there you
set forth in carriages to Rolde, for the purpose of gazing upon
Hunnebetten.

What these might be, when you found them, I had not an idea, though
pride forbade me to inquire of Alb, especially before the girls. But
pride never forbids Aunt Fay's little counterfeit presentment (perhaps
it will save time if in the future I allude to her as the L.C.P.) to ask
any question. She is never satisfied with guide-books, but demands and
absorbs information about every place we visit, scribbling down notes in
the book she wears on her chatelaine. (There must have been dozens of
"refills" fitted in between the silver covers since we started, though
what she wants of the stuff she collects, I can't imagine.) She did not
hesitate to exclaim, "What on earth are Hunnebetten?" And there was no
ignominy in listening, with a bored air of having been born knowing
these things, while Alb described the objects as supposed graves of
Huns, built of glacier-borne stones.

Next morning we drove out to worship at these ancient shrines, winding
along a charming, wooded road, through avenues of young oaks, balsamic
pine forests, and acres of purple heather, to say nothing of a certain
pink flower which must be heather's Dutch cousin.

Some of the Hunnebetten were hidden in the woods, others rose gloomily
out of the sweet simplicity of a hayfield, but each contrived to give
the effect of a miniature Stonehenge, and had there been only one
monument instead of three, it would have been worth the trouble we took
to see it. Besides, our expedition was rewarded in another way. When we
returned to the boats after breakfasting at a _cafe_ in the woods, it
was to hear that a motor-launch, patriotically bearing the name of
"Wilhelmina," had gone by, faster than the legal limit, as if in ha