XII
ON THE WAY TO HAARLEM
On approaching the door of the farmhouse the boys suddenly foundthemselves in the midst of a lively domestic scene. A burly Dutchmancame rushing out, closely followed by his dear _vrouw_, and she wasbeating him smartly with a long-handled warming-pan. The expression onher face gave our boys so little promise of a kind reception that theyprudently resolved to carry their toes elsewhere to be warmed.
The next cottage proved to be more inviting. Its low roof of bright redtiles, extended over the cow-stable, that, clean as could be, nestledclose to the main building. A neat, peaceful-looking old woman sat atone window, knitting. At the other could be discerned part of theprofile of a fat figure that, pipe in mouth, sat behind the shininglittle panes and snowy curtain. In answer to Peter's subdued knock, afair-haired, rosy-cheeked lass in holiday attire opened the upper halfof the green door (which was divided across the middle) and inquiredtheir errand.
"May we enter and warm ourselves, jufvrouw?" asked the captainrespectfully.
"Yes, and welcome," was the reply, as the lower half of the door swungsoftly toward its mate. Every boy before entering rubbed long andfaithfully upon the rough mat, and each made his best bow to the oldlady and gentleman at the windows. Ben was half inclined to think thatthese personages were automata like the moving figures in the garden atBroek; for they both nodded their heads slowly, in precisely the sameway, and both went on with their employment as steadily and stiffly asthough they worked by machinery. The old man puffed! puffed! and hisvrouw clicked her knitting-needles, as if regulated by internalcog-wheels. Even the real smoke issuing from the motionless pipe, gaveno convincing proof that they were human.
But the rosy-cheeked maiden. Ah! how she bustled about. How she gave theboys polished high-backed chairs to sit upon, how she made the fireblaze up as if it were inspired, how she made Jacob Poot almost weep forjoy by bringing forth a great square of gingerbread, and a stone jug ofsour wine! How she laughed and nodded as the boys ate like wild animalson good behavior, and how blank she looked when Ben politely but firmlyrefused to take any black bread and sour-krout! How she pulled offJacob's mitten, which was torn at the thumb, and mended it before hiseyes, biting off the thread with her white teeth, and saying, "now itwill be warmer," as she bit; and finally, how she shook hands with everyboy in turn and (throwing a deprecating glance at the female automaton)insisted upon filling their pockets with gingerbread!
All this time the knitting-needles clicked on, and the pipe never misseda puff.
When the boys were fairly on their way again, they came in sight ofZwanenburg Castle with its massive stone front, and its gateway towers,each surmounted with a sculptured swan.
"Halfweg,[19] boys," said Peter, "off with your skates."
[Footnote 19: Half-way.]
"You see," explained Lambert to his companion, "the Y and the HaarlemLake meeting here make it rather troublesome. The river is five feethigher than the land--so we must have everything strong in the way ofdykes and sluice-gates, or there would be wet work at once. The sluicearrangements here are supposed to be something extra--we will walk overthem and you shall see enough to make you open your eyes. The springwater of the lake, they say, has the most wonderful bleaching powers ofany in the world; all the great Haarlem bleacheries use it. I can't saymuch upon that subject--but I can tell you _one_ thing from personalexperience."
"What is that?"
"Why, the lake is full of the biggest eels you ever saw--I've caughtthem here, often--perfectly prodigious! I tell you they're sometimes amatch for a fellow; they'd almost wriggle your arm from the socket ifyou were not on your guard. But you're not interested in eels, Iperceive. The castle's a big affair. Isn't it?"
"Yes. What do those swans mean? Anything?" asked Ben, looking up at thestone gate-towers.
"The swan is held almost in reverence by us Hollanders. These give thebuilding its name, Zwanenburg--swan-castle. That is all I know. This isa very important spot; for it is here that the wise ones hold councilwith regard to dyke matters. The castle was once the residence of thecelebrated Christiaan Brunings."
"What about _him_?" asked Ben.
"Peter could answer you better than I," said Lambert, "if you could onlyunderstand each other, or were not such cowards about leaving yourmother-tongues. But I have often heard my grandfather speak of Brunings.He is never tired of telling us of the great engineer--how good he was,and how learned, and how when he died the whole country seemed to mournas for a friend. He belonged to a great many learned societies, and wasat the head of the State department intrusted with the care of thedykes, and other defences against the sea. There's no counting theimprovements he made in dykes and sluices and water-mills, and all thatkind of thing. We Hollanders, you know, consider our great engineers asthe highest of public benefactors. Brunings died years ago; they've amonument to his memory in the cathedral of Haarlem. I have seen hisportrait, and I tell you, Ben, he was right noble-looking. No wonder thecastle looks so stiff and proud. It is something to have given shelterto such a man!"
"Yes, indeed," said Ben. "I wonder, Van Mounen, whether you or I willever give any old building a right to feel proud--Heigho! there's agreat deal to be done yet in this world and some of us who are boys now,will have to do it. Look to your shoe latchet, Van, it's unfastened."