"It will take time," answered Lambert, condescendingly, "but you are sure to agree with it at last. I saw much to admire in England, and I hope I shall be sent back with you, to study at Oxford; but take everything together, I like Holland best." "Of course you do," said Ben, in a tone of hearty approval, "you wouldn't be a good Hollander if you didn't. Nothing like loving one's country. It is strange, though, to have such a warm feeling for such a cold place. If we were not exercising all the time we should freeze outright." Lambert laughed. "That's your English blood, Benjamin. _I'm_ not cold. And look at the skaters here on the canal--they're red as roses, and happy as lords. Hallo! good Captain van Holp," called out Lambert in Dutch, "what say you to stopping at yonder farmhouse and warming our toes?" "Who is cold?" asked Peter, turning around. "Benjamin Dobbs." "Benjamin Dobbs shall be warmed," and the party was brought to a halt. XII ON THE WAY TO HAARLEM On approaching the door of the farmhouse the boys suddenly found themselves in the midst of a lively domestic scene. A burly Dutchman came rushing out, closely followed by his dear _vrouw_, and she was beating him smartly with a long-handled warming-pan. The expression on her face gave our boys so little promise of a kind reception that they prudently resolved to carry their toes elsewhere to be warmed. The next cottage proved to be more inviting. Its low roof of bright red tiles, extended over the cow-stable, that, clean as could be, nestled close to the main building. A neat, peaceful-looking old woman sat at one window, knitting. At the other could be discerned part of the profile of a fat figure that, pipe in mouth, sat behind the shining little panes and snowy curtain. In answer to Peter's subdued knock, a fair-haired, rosy-cheeked lass in holiday attire opened the upper half of the green door (which was divided across the middle) and inquired their errand. "May we enter and warm ourselves, jufvrouw?" asked the captain respectfully. "Yes, and welcome," was the reply, as the lower half of the door swung softly toward its mate. Every boy before entering rubbed long and faithfully upon the rough mat, and each made his best bow to the old lady and gentleman at the windows. Ben was half inclined to think that these personages were automata like the moving figures in the garden at Broek; for they both nodded their heads slowly, in precisely the same way, and both went on with their employment as steadily and stiffly as though they worked by machinery. The old man puffed! puffed! and his vrouw clicked her knitting-needles, as if regulated by internal cog-wheels. Even the real smoke issuing from the motionless pipe, gave no convincing proof that they were human.