and oh ye rigid female martyrs on the rack of daily
exemplariness, ye unquestioning patient followers of paths that have
been pointed out, if only you knew the wholesome joys of sometimes being
less good!

The point at which we were is the nearest from which Ruegen can be
reached by persons coming up from the south and going to drive. No one
ever gets out there who is bound for Ruegen, because no one ever drives
to Ruegen. The ordinary tourist, almost exclusively German, goes first to
Stralsund, is taken across the narrow strip of water, train and all, on
the steam ferry, and continues without changing till he reaches the open
sea on the other side of the island at Sassnitz. Or he goes by train
from Berlin to Stettin and then by steamer down the Oder, crosses the
open sea for four hours, and arrives, probably pensive for the boats are
small and the waves are often big, at Goehren, the first stopping-place
on the island's east coast.

We were not ordinary tourists, and having got to Miltzow were to be
independent of all such wearinesses as trains and steamers till the day
we wanted to come back again. From Miltzow we were going to drive to a
ferry three miles off at a place called Stahlbrode, cross the mile of
water, land on the island's south shore, and go on at once that
afternoon to the jelly-fish of Miss North's Putbus, which were beckoning
me across to the legend-surrounded island far more irresistibly than any
of those grey figures the guide-book talked about.

The carriage was a light one of the victoria genus with a hood; the
horses were a pair esteemed at home for their meekness; the coachman,
August, was a youth who had never yet driven straight on for an
indefinite period without turning round once, and he looked as though he
thought he were going to enjoy himself. I was sure I was going to enjoy
myself. Gertrud, I fancy, was without these illusions; but she is old,
and has got out of the habit of being anything but resigned. She was the
sop on this occasion thrown to the Grim One of the iron claws, for I
would far rather have gone alone. But Gertrud is very silent; to go with
her would be as nearly like being alone as it is possible to be when you
are not. She could, I knew, be trusted to sit by my side knitting,
however bumpy the road, and not opening her lips unless asked a
question. Admirable virtue of silence, most precious, because most rare,
jewel in the crown of female excellences, not possessed by