ste
to reach Meppel. According to Hendrik and Toon, a tall gentleman had
sprung up from the deck-chair, rushed to the rail, and stared hard at
"Mascotte"; but "Wilhelmina" had not slowed down.

On hearing this news, I was inclined to make an excuse for lingering at
Assen; but Alb was of opinion that it would be as safe, and far less
dull, to go on. "Wilhelmina" was well ahead; and in any case we did not
mean to stop the night at Meppel. If we saw Sir Alec's launch there, we
could easily slip past, all passengers in the cabin and Hendrik at the
helm; whereas, if we did not see her, she would not be able to see us.

We were in the province of Drenthe now, and it looked as little Dutch as
might be. Even the canal had the air of disguising itself as the Long
Water at Hampton Court, instead of being content to seem what it was;
and after we had passed a few dignified mansions and farmhouses, we came
to a region of squalid cottages with sullen-faced, short-haired women,
and children shy as wild creatures of the wood, staring at us from
low-browed doorways. It was not until we were far on our eight hours'
journey to Meppel, that we slipped once more into a characteristic
region of peace and plenty; marching lines of dark trees, with
foregrounds of pink and azure flowers, or golden grain; mossy, thatched
roofs, and red tiles crusted with golden lichen. But fortunately for the
disposal of our toy supply, renewed at Assen, the watery way was starred
with red, green, and blue barges inhabited by large families of
violet-eyed, tow-headed infants. If by chance we encountered a childless
barge, we glared resentment at the grown-ups. What were they thinking
of, not to have babies, these people?

The meadow-ringed world of water and sky was all charm and grace and
quaintness again, at Meppel and beyond, and I was in a mood to
appreciate its beauty there, for we had a glimpse of "Wilhelmina" in
harbor, and apparently deserted. Passing within distant sight of her as
she lay in harbor, Brederode gaily put on speed; for we had got beyond
the "legal limit" obstructions of the Drenthe canal, into the freedom of
the Ober Issel, a wide glitter of water, noble as the Frisian meers we
had left.

Never was there an evening more exquisite than this, as we floated on
through the sunset, with the old town of Zwolle for our night goal.

We were in the Swarzermeer, said Brederode; but there was nothing black
about it, except the name. Sky and wat