illow-patterned plates, drank delicious coffee out
of cups with feet, and stirred it with antique silver spoons, small
enough for children's playthings. Afterwards the old lady with the
helmet, and the pretty daughter-in-law were persuaded to show their
winter wardrobes, which consisted mostly of petticoats. There were
dozens, some knitted of heavy wool, some quilted in elaborate patterns,
and some of thick, fleecy cloth; but there was not one weighing less
than three pounds.

"Do ask how many they wear at a time?" the Chaperon commanded, no doubt
with a thought for her mysterious note-book, about which I often wonder.

"I wear eight, summer and winter," replied the old lady. "My
daughter-in-law is of the younger generation, and does not put on more
than six. Little Maria is allowed only four; it is better for children
not to carry much weight."

The girls looked petrified. "What martyrdom!" exclaimed Nell. "Even the
Duke of Alva couldn't have subjected Dutch women to much worse torture
than that. Eight of these knitted and wadded petticoats in summer! It's
being buried alive up to the waist. In the name of civilization, _why_
do they do it?"

I passed on the question to the old lady. She and her daughter-in-law
received it gravely, thought it over for a moment, and then replied----

"But we must do it, mynheer; it is the mode. It has always been the
mode."

"Talk of slaves of fashion!" muttered Nell. "If you want to find them,
don't look in London or Paris or New York, but among the peasantry of
Holland!"

Not one of the three could recover from the shock. They seemed stunned,
as if all the petticoats at once had fallen from the shelves onto their
heads and overwhelmed them; and even when we had said good-by to
Wilhelminaberg, they talked in hushed tones of what it must feel like to
be clothed in eight petticoats. They would probably have gone on
discussing the subject in all its phases, until we regained the boat, if
something had not happened. It was just after we passed the bandstand in
the meer, and Starr had wondered aloud if the inhabitants of Broek ever
did revel so giddily and publicly as to come outside their gardens to
hear music, when there was a loud splash, followed by a cry.

The splash was Tibe's, the cry his mistress's, and in an instant we were
in a flutter, for the dog was in the lake.

Close to shore the water is coated over with lily-pads, mingling with a
bright green, beady vegetation; a