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the whole back of the crown was gone. It had been a lovely foliage hat of rose leaves and buds. Of course I called Gusty for advice. She replied:
"Well, Ontie, you know I told you in London, I was going to put fresh flowers on my hat."
I said, “Why did you not tell me mine was needing repair also ?”
“I thought you would know,” she said.
I replied: "I shall have to try to have fresh leaves put on it now, as I do not want to buy a new hat till I get to Paris.'
Gusty was out of patience, and she showed it, and said: "I do not know one word of Dutch, and how can we have it done?”
"Well, just take me into a milliner shop,” I said, "and I will tell them what I want."
I then put on my crownless hat, tying a veil over it, which partly concealed its defects, and getting into the carriage we started. We passed several bonnet shops and I suppose Gusty was making up her mind what to do. Then I saw another, and said, “I am going in here,” which I did, Gusty following me. I expected to make my wants known by signs, but Gusty asked in French, on a venture, if my work could be done. Like a flash, the milliner and Gusty were talking away in French, and the milliner proved to be a French woman, and she thought Gusty was a Parisienne. Well, a very pleasant face Gusty turned, and said:
“All right, Ontie, the woman says she can trim your hat in a short time while we wait."
And when it was returned to me, it looked almost as well as ever.
We drove from here to the Royal Palace, which was built years ago for a town hall. Consequently the entrance is not very imposing. It is very large. The throne
is handsome, the sculptured frieze being unusually fine. Three beautiful crystal chandeliers hang from its ceiling, the center being the largest. From here we drove through the Jewish quarters. These are mainly Portuguese. We went here to see the diamond polishing and some of the world's most famous diamonds. It being Saturday, they closed early, and we only had a short time there. Then we went to Ryk's Museum. Here we saw Rembrandt's “Nightwatch” and one of his fine portraits, Elizabeth Bas. We also saw pictures of the little Dutch masters, so called because all of these paintings are small, but very fine. We saw the Schreierstoren (or Crier's Tower), built in the fifteenth century, so called from the number of tears shed by people bidding good-by to friends leaving by deep-sea steamers that used to stop at the tower.
July 10. We spent a quiet Sunday, writing and resting, and I was hoping for a cablegram in reply to mine, but none came.
Monday, July 11. I fully expected a cablegram this morning, but was disappointed, so we carried out our schedule plan, and took the canal trip. The steamer was a narrow, flat boat, the best seats being on deck. We steamed on the canal to Brock, the cleanest town
in Holland. We visited one of the houses where the Holland cheese is made. Houses, sheds and stables are all under one roof. The beds are square niches shelves in the walls, all fitted up in inviting-looking white, with white curtains. This seems characteristic of the Dutch peasantry. The house was immaculate and was a good specimen of the cleanliness of the place. Leaving here, we took a peep into the little church. We saw a fine ebony pulpit, of which they are justly proud. We then returned to our steamer, continuing our ride to Monnikendam. This is a very quaint village. We left our steamer here, walking through and to the opposite side of the village, there taking another and a little larger steamer. Just before we went on board, a number of the village children, girls and boys, stepped up beside and commenced walking with us, the leader being a large, pleasantfaced boy, who asked if he should sing for us. I had heard him singing in a weak voice, which did not appeal to me, so told him “No.” He said “I sing for a lot of folks, and they give me money and send me postcards and presents.” I had been told to look for the singing boy, but he did not answer the description in any particular, yet I was told afterward that he was the singing boy. We were now well out in the Zyder Zee, which required the larger boat. We had a fair luncheon on this boat, while on the way to the Island of Marken, our next stop. This is a fishing village, and the people still wear their quaint costumes. We left the steamer on arriving, walking up to the
few houses that constitute the village. The first view I had of an inhabitant was a pair of huge wooden sabots sticking up very prominently while the little woman whose feet they were on was kneeling, head down, with hands in the water, doing her washing in a large, square pond made for this purpose. The women all wear caps that fit across the forehead and around the head closely, with a puff of hair pulled out in front of the cap on the forehead, and a long curl hanging down from each side. The children dress in gorgeous calico jackets and gowns, with caps matching the gown. This cap is composed of six pieces. They also wear curls. Some are very pretty, while others are just strings of hair. The boys and girls up to six years of age dress exactly alike. After then, the boys are distinguished by a button on the crown of the cap.
. I think the whole village of youngsters were dressed out of one bolt of calico. The men and older boys wear large knee-pants, shaped like balloons, stopping at the knee.
Their tiny little houses are very clean and they are proud of them and very desirous of showing them, mainly, I think, for the tips that are given. The children all sing out in a chorus as we pass, "Money! money! money!"-even the tiniest lisping ones.
From Marken we started on our return trip by way of Volendam. The profanity of Holland is distressing, as you are damned by every name. The pier is quite long here, being almost a bridge up to the village, making such a long walk, and I decided to remain on the boat. Gusty went up with others to see the village. I was very anxious to possess some of these quaint caps. These here have high crowns, with pointed ends that turn backward at the ears. Gusty was fortunate enough to secure two of them for me, both lace and hand-made by the owner. These caps, it seems, are handed down from one generation to another.
As we started again, tea was served on the boat. I took lemonade. And we had some of the famous Dutch buttercake. It was fine. We arrived back at the Amstel Hotel, but I still found no cablegram for me. This caused us to change our plans, as we had expected to leave the next morning. I felt too anxious about my aunt to make another change until hearing from her. Therefore we decided to remain until the cablegram came.
Tuesday, July 12. We rested in the morning and after lunch took a long drive, stopping on our way back to get some of the little Dutch cakes and some hopjes, a little, hard candy. On our return, I found a cablegram, telling me my aunt was much better.