side, half hidden by the sail, stood a girl. He walked up the canal to get a better glimpse of her, and just as he did so she walked across to the port side. She was now very near him. He could see her fair face, her red cheeks, her yellow plainted hair. Across her forehead was a black band of cloth, and over this a tight-fitting lace cap. Her chemisette was of white, her sleeveless waist of blue, her full short skirt of brown. The young man was not a painter, nor a poet, nor even a romancer, but as he looked at the girl the frown disappeared from his face. Just then a maid in a purple gown and white apron and cap appeared on deck, and the youth expected to see her pounce upon something with her suds and brush,-possibly upon the young woman herself. The lavender frock brought back the morning episode; and, putting his hands deeper into his pockets, he walked back to his hotel and breakfasted.

His mission in Holland was to purchase cheese for his father, who was an importer; and he was bound for Alkmaar. He drove. No American bent on business could waste time on a canal boat. A young boy accompanied him, to drive the horse back. He had purposely taken one who could not talk English, for he hated a chattering companion, and yet he had not gone far before he wished he had some way of knowing what the things about him were. He attempted to find out by talking loudly and gesticulating, but he soon gave it up, and together they rode in silence.

Presently he spied ahead of him the boat of the morning. He hurried his horses; but just at this point the road left the canal side, and, instead of getting nearer as he progressed, he got farther away. Forward the housemaid was hanging the linen to dry, and aft the girl, with an arm around a child, was sitting on a long bench, their white sabots swinging vigorously.

On the sunny side of the boat the

owner, Mynheer Brabrant, and his wife were conversing,-he a great, sleek, fat fellow, smoking his pipe, and she somewhat younger, fat and knitting.

"To-morrow's Reta's birthday, and I shall give her her headband and rings," said the wife.

"They won't spoil her, will they?" asked the husband, between puffs. "Reta's a good girl, but she's not quite like us."

"I know she doesn't approve of some of our ways. She says that we spend so much time cleaning house that we can never go away and leave things, nor can we ever read any books or know anything. She says she rather hear men talk than women, because women always talk of baking and brewing and scrubbing and sewing. Yes, she says she rather know what Japanese eat and Chinamen wear than to have us talk whether brick or pomade is best for brass."

Mynheer chuckled. "She's a warm blooded little thing. How she kisses. my lips when I am smoking, and rubs my bald head and laughs at me and cries for me! She's got a big heart, but I will feel better when she and Heinrich are married. You can't depend on English blood."

Meantime Reta and her cousin Adolph were chattering together. Reta was knitting lace.

"Will you see Heinrich at Alkmaar?"

"I think so."

"Are you going to marry him?"
"I don't know."

"When are you going to know?" "I don't know. You must not ask questions."

"Well, father says he will feel safer when you are married."

"Did he say that?" gasped the girl. "Did he say he was tired having me?"

"Oh, no, he said he did not know what he would do without you, that he loved you, you were so warmhearted; but he said he would feel safer when you were married."

N an August morning, a dozen years ago, an American youth was standing on the bank of a canal at Amsterdam. He looked cross; he was cross; he had been cheated out of his morning nap by the housemaids scrubbing and chattering at his windows.

The china, the glass, the brass shone in the tiny room he occupied; the furniture and woodwork had a polish as if just new; the curtains. were stiff with starch, and the linen pure white. Such a room would have delighted any woman traveller, but it chafed the youth, and he said to himself: "House-cleaning! Thank Heaven I came the day after instead of the day before!" Two Dutch mottoes hung on the walls, and a slip of cardboard had these English words, written in a Dutch hand: "Throw not ashes on the floor; please put them on the dish." The youth smiled at the thought of his having time to do aught else but let ashes drop as they would. The last thing he remembered as he went to sleep was throwing his cigarette butt on the rug beside the bed.

At five o'clock he was awakened, as he supposed, by the rain dashing against his window. This ruffled him, for he was to go to Alkmaar that day, and he did not fancy a drive in a storm. Although disturbed, he turned himself in bed for another nap. Soon there began so vigorous a scratching and rubbing that he thought a dog or a cat was trying to make its way through the window. He rose quickly, peered through the curtains, and saw two housemaids arrayed in lavender gowns, white caps

and aprons, one rubbing the window dry, the other with a pointed stick the size of a lead pencil digging out the cracks about the windows and the sides of the house. He called to them to stop, but unfortunately they knew no English and he no Dutch. He was wide awake now and so out of temper that he could sleep no more. He therefore dressed and went out into the street. As he walked along he saw numbers of these same lavendergowned creatures, scrubbing and digging on every side. How he hated them! They were washing windows, sides of houses and sidewalks. The Hollanders of his class were still in bed; they are late risers.

It

He made directly for the water, as most travellers do. The canal was alive with boats,-little boats, big boats, dirty boats, clean boats, sail boats, steam boats, boats drawn by horses, boats drawn by women and children, boats paddled by men. was a moving picture, and the young man, his face still denoting discontent, struck a match on his trousers, lighted a cigarette and, stuffing his left hand back into his pocket, became interested in the panorama. The boats in front of him were moving up and down, sails were filling, and arms were clanking, bridges were opening up in the air to let the boats pass, and lowering themselves again that the working people might crowd across them. The arms of the windmills, far and near, were moving with dignity and grace, and the music of the chimes of half past five were ringing out.

Just then a boat came into sight which attracted his attention. It was of different shape from the others; its sails were new, its paint was fresh, its brass highly polished. It stopped directly in front of him. On the port

side, half hidden by the sail, stood a girl. He walked up the canal to get a better glimpse of her, and just as he did so she walked across to the port side. She was now very near him. He could see her fair face, her red cheeks, her yellow plainted hair. Across her forehead was a black band of cloth, and over this a tight-fitting lace cap. Her chemisette was of white, her sleeveless waist of blue, her full short skirt of brown. The young man was not a painter, nor a poet, nor even a romancer, but as he looked at the girl the frown disappeared from his face. Just then a maid in a purple gown and white apron and cap appeared on deck, and the youth expected to see her pounce upon something with her suds and brush,-possibly upon the young woman herself. The lavender frock brought back the morning episode; and, putting his hands deeper into his pockets, he walked back to his hotel and breakfasted.

His mission in Holland was to purchase cheese for his father, who was an importer; and he was bound for Alkmaar. He drove. No American bent on business could waste time on a canal boat. A young boy accompanied him, to drive the horse back. He had purposely taken one who could not talk English, for he hated a chattering companion, and yet he had not gone far before he wished he had some way of knowing what the things about him were. He attempted to find out by talking loudly and gesticulating, but he soon gave it up, and together they rode in silence.

Presently he spied ahead of him the boat of the morning. He hurried his horses; but just at this point the road left the canal side, and, instead of getting nearer as he progressed, he got farther away. Forward the housemaid was hanging the linen to dry, and aft the girl, with an arm around a child, was sitting on a long bench, their white sabots swinging vigorously.

On the sunny side of the boat the

owner, Mynheer Brabrant, and his wife were conversing,-he a great, sleek, fat fellow, smoking his pipe, and she somewhat younger, fat and knitting.

"To-morrow's Reta's birthday, and I shall give her her headband and rings," said the wife.

"They won't spoil her, will they?" asked the husband, between puffs. "Reta's a good girl, but she's not quite like us."

"I know she doesn't approve of some of our ways. She says that we spend so much time cleaning house that we can never go away and leave things, nor can we ever read any books or know anything. She says she rather hear men talk than women, because women always talk of baking and brewing and scrubbing and sewing. Yes, she says she rather know what Japanese eat and Chinamen wear than to have us talk whether brick or pomade is best for brass."

Mynheer chuckled. "She's a warm blooded little thing. How she kisses my lips when I am smoking, and rubs my bald head and laughs at me and cries for me! She's got a big heart, but I will feel better when she and Heinrich are married. You can't depend on English blood."

Meantime Reta and her cousin Adolph were chattering together. Reta was knitting lace.

"Will you see Heinrich at Alkmaar?"

"I think so."

"Are you going to marry him?"
"I don't know."

"When are you going to know?" "I don't know. You must not ask questions."

"Well, father says he will feel safer when you are married."

"Did he say that?" gasped the girl. "Did he say he was tired having me?"

"Oh, no, he said he did not know what he would do without you, that he loved you, you were so warmhearted; but he said he would feel safer when you were married."

"Tell me about the farm. Is it big?"

"Yes, big and beautiful. It has a great canal running by it, and then it has two canals of its own. It has its own boats, and they are the greatest fun to play on. They haul the hay and the feed and all that, on their boats, from one part of the farm to the other. The house is beautiful. The dining room I remember best, with its high mantel and chimneycorner seats, and its dish cupboards. Heinrich's mother is a little fat rolypoly woman, good natured, who spends all her time superintending the servants. The stable, however, is the building they all brag about. It is a prettier shape than the house, and built of nicer stones. It has many, many windows, and each window has muslin curtains and screens. The stalls are stone, the floor is tile, and it's just as clean as this boat. There is not a wisp of straw nor a seed nor anything on the floor, except where the cow lies. Running through the stall is a drain, and the cows are scrubbed till their white spots are like snow; and their tails are tied to a hook in the ceiling to keep their bodies from getting dirty."

At this the child began to laugh, and said: "Oh, you are telling me fairy tales," and ran to his mother to ask if this statement were true.

Left to herself, Reta fell to dreaming of the happy to-morrow; for she was to have her mother's gold headband, her mother's beautiful rings and real lace cap; besides her aunt had made her a new blue braided cloth

waist, and she was to go to the kirmess as many days as she cared to, and she was to have her own money to spend. Over and over again she had planned how she and Heinrich would buy presents for Hans's children. She was going to go to the Chinese and Arab villages and see how people in other countries lived.

How she wished her father and mother had not died! Then she could have gone to England and seen the great town of London, and perhaps the Queen herself. Perhaps she could have seen her father's pictures, for some of them were in the great gallery. The best ones were of Holland -Holland women at their work. If her mother was half as beautiful as her pictures, she could not see why the English grandfather and grandmother fairly disowned their son for marrying; and if he was as good and true as people said he was, she could not see why her Dutch grandfather objected so strongly. She loved this mother, whom she could scarcely remember, and the father, who used to carry her about with him as he sketched and worked. At school she was at the head of her class; she spoke English with only a very slight accent. She read every book she was allowed to read. She longed to travel, and she was so restless that she was delighted when she could persuade her aunt to take up her summer quarters on the boat. Her uncle was getting richer all the time. He now owned two windmills, besides the boat and a house in Amsterdam. She was afraid he would sell his boat and stay at home, and then she would have to knit and sew and clean all the time.

Suddenly she noticed the sails. They were not filling; the ropes were flapping. A startling thought came to her. "What if it should die out, and we have to remain here all the night!" Running to her uncle she said: "The wind's going; what shall we do?"

He smoked a minute and then replied: "There's no hurry; we'll get in to-morrow."

"To-morrow!" Could she wait until to-morrow to shine up the headband and don the cap, and to feel and see the rings on her fingers and in her ears?

"Start the steam," she pleaded. "Oh, what's the use of wasting fuel?" he replied.

The girl turned away, and tears ran down her ruddy cheeks. After a time she put her arm around his neck and, rubbing his cheek with hers, she said: "If I can get the boat in without sail or steam and without cost, may I?"

He laughed and said: "Want to see him pretty badly, don't you? Yes, you may if you can,-but you can't. You can't pull it yourself like the canal women, and none of us will help you."

"You promise?"

"Yes."

Then Reta fell to, with all her persuasive powers, and in an hour the uncle was roused from a nap by the movement of the boat. Looking on shore, he saw the helmsman, the loader, the housemaid, Reta and his son Carl pulling with all their might, while his wife was steering. He rose slowly, and was about to command them to stop, when he noticed a foreigner on the path. The man was watching the workers, and presently, in a most impatient tone, said:

In

"Shame on you, you wretch, to let a beautiful girl work like that! America you'd get thrashed."

No one understood this save Reta, and she called out softly: "It isn't his fault. I wanted to do it."

"You wanted to!" muttered the man. "How many thousand women tell lies every day lest the world think ill of the men of their families!"

By fast driving Arthur Van Wyck had reached Alkmaar earlier than he expected. He had eaten a luncheon and looked about the kirmess, and still the man he was to meet had not arrived. He walked down to the canal; he wondered if the boat was in. He concluded it was not; he therefore strolled along the path. A real ro

mancer would tell you that he had met his affinity, that he felt himself drawn that way, that he could not help seeking her; but the writer of this tale thinks that, in a country where he knew no one, the persons he had seen in the morning appeared like old friends, and he wanted to see them again. At any rate, he walked on and on, lured by the sight of a boat always advancing, until, three miles outside the town, he came upon the person he sought, under the circumstances I have described. He had started the day in anger, and he had been vexed and bothered all day. If he had acted upon his impulses, he would have attempted to thrash the fat Dutchman, but instead he turned and walked across the fields at right angles to the boat, so that he could watch the company. He had never seen a more beautiful person than this girl; and now that she was walking, her figure seemed perfect. All the Dutch girls he had seen looked as if they wore great bustles quite around their waists, and as if they had strapped down the bust; but she was plump without being fat, and strong without being clumsy.

"Stop!" called her uncle. "Come in!" and they obeyed. "Light the fires, Fritz; we can steam in before night. Reta, I did not know you wanted to go so badly. You should have told me."

So it happened that Reta reached Alkmaar the night before her birthday, and they all visited her uncle's oldest son, Hans. And so it happened that the next day, in her new waist and her mother's rings and cap, she spent at the kirmess. Some of the Holland kirmesses are low affairs, but not so at Alkmaar. Although there is much more freedom than on ordinary occasions, there is little drunkenness. Women may go by themselves undisturbed.

Reta and Adolph started early. They had seen the acrobats and clowns, and were about to go to the Chinese village, when she noticed a