Little things which were matters of every day for me in this country so
characteristic of the Netherlands, tickled the fancy of the strangers,
and kept them constantly exclaiming. The extravagantly polished wood of
the house doors; the lifting cranes protruding from the gables; the
dairymen in boats, with their shining pails; the bridges that pivoted
round to let us pass through; the drawbridges that opened in the middle
and swung up with leisured dignity; the bridgeman in sorrel-colored
coats, collecting tolls in battered wooden shoes suspended from long
lines; the dogs (which they call "Spitz" and are really Kees) who barked
ferociously at our motor, from every barge and lighter; the yellow carts
with black, bonnet-like hoods, from which peasant heads peered curiously
out at us, from shore; and, above all, the old women or young children
with ropes across their breasts, straining to tow enormous barges like
great dark, following whales.

"What can Dutchmen be like to let them do it, while they loaf on board?"
Miss Van Buren flashed at me, as if I were responsible for the faults of
all my male countrymen.

"It isn't exactly loafing to steer those big barges," said I. "And the
whole family take turns, anywhere between the ages of ten and a hundred.
They don't know what hard work it is, because nobody has told them, and
our river people are among the most contented."

Starr was interested in seeing me salute the men of passing craft, and
in their grave return of the courtesy. Soon, he could imitate my motion,
though he exaggerated it slightly, letting his arm float gracefully out
to full length before it came back to his cap, somewhat, as he remarked,
"like a lily-stem blown by the wind." When he had got the knack he was
enchanted, and every yacht, sail-boat, lighter, and barge had a
theatrical greeting from him as it slipped silently past, perhaps never
to be seen again by our eyes.

"But are they happy?" he asked. "You never hear bursts of laughter, or
chattering of voices, as you would in other countries. The youngest
children's faces are grave, while as for the men, they look as if they
were paid so much a day not to shed a smile, and were mighty
conscientious about earning their money. Yet you say they're contented."

"We Dutch are a reserved people," I explained, under Miss Van Buren's
critical gaze. "We don't make much noise when we're glad, or sad; and it
takes something funny to make us laugh. We don't do