Warner Susan
The End of a Coil

He laughed good-humouredly. "Can't buy much without it," he said, with that shrewd twinkle in his eye.

"And what can Mr. Copley do for you, I should like to know?" she went on impatiently.

"He's put me in a likely way," said Rupert. "I am very much beholden to Mr. Copley. But the best thing he has done for me is this – by a long jump."

"This? What?"

"Letting me go along this journey. I do not think money is the very best of all things," the young man said with some spirit.

"Letting you – Do you mean that you are going to Venice in our party?"

"If it is Venice you are going to."

Silence fell. Mrs. Copley pondered the news in some consternation. To Dolly it was not news, and she did not mean it should be fact, if she could help it.

"Perhaps you have business in Venice?" Mrs. Copley at length ventured.

"I hope it'll turn out so," said Rupert. "Mr. Copley said I might have the pleasure of taking care of you. I should enjoy that, I guess, more than making money."

"Good gracious!" was all the speech Mrs. Copley was capable of. She sat and looked at the young man. So, furtively, did Dolly. He was enjoying his supper; yes, and the prospect too; for a slight flush had risen to his face. It was not a symmetrical face, but honesty was written in every line of it.

"You've got your plans fixed?" Rupert next inquired. "Know just which way you are going? Be sure you are right, and then go ahead, you know."

"We take the boat to Rotterdam," said Dolly.

"Which way, then? Mr. Copley told me so much."

"I don't know," said Mrs. Copley. "If I could once get hold of Mr. Copley we could soon settle it."

"What points do you want to make?"

"Points? I don't want to make any points. I don't know what you mean."

"I mean, where do you want to go in special, between here and Venice? or are there no places you care about?"

"Places? Oh! – Well, yes, there are. I should like to see the place where the battle of Waterloo was fought."

"Mother, that would be out of our way," said Dolly.

"Which is our way?" said Mrs. Copley. "I thought we had not fixed it."

"You don't go up the Rhine, then?" said Rupert.

"I'm going nowhere by boat except where I can't help myself. I like to feel land under me. No, we are not going up the Rhine. I can see mountains enough in America, and rivers enough too."

Rupert had finished his supper, and took up an atlas he saw lying near.

"Rotterdam," he said, opening at the map of Central Europe, – "that is our one fixed point, that and Venice. Now, how to get from the one to the other."

Mrs. Copley changed her seat to come nearer the map; and an animated discussion followed, which kept her interested and happy the whole of the evening. Dolly saw it and was thankful. It was more satisfactory than the former consultation with St. Leger, who treated the subject from quite too high and lordly a point of view; referring to the best hotels and assuming the easiest ways of doing things; flinging money about him, in imagination, as Mrs. Copley said, as if it were coming out of a purse with no bottom to it; which to be sure might be very true so far as he was concerned, but much discomposed the poor woman who knew that on her part such pleasant freehandedness was not to be thought of. Rupert Babbage evidently did not think of it. He considered economy. Besides, he was not so distractingly au fait in everything; Mrs. Copley could bear a part in the conversation. So she and Rupert meandered over the map, talked endlessly, took a vast deal of pleasure in the exercise, and grew quite accustomed to each other; while Dolly sat by, glad and yet chafing. Rupert certainly was a comfort, for the hour; but she wished he had never been thought of, nevertheless.

But he was a comfort next day again. Cheery and busy and efficient, he managed people, sent the luggage off, helped and waited upon Mrs. Copley, and kept her quiet with his talk, up to the time when the third day they took their places in the coach.

"Really, Mr. Babbage, you are a very handy young man!" Mrs. Copley once had uttered her admiration; and Rupert laughed.

"I shouldn't think much of myself," he said, "if I couldn't do as much as that. You see, I consider that I'm promoted."

Dolly made the journey up to town in a state between relief and disgust. Rupert did take a world of trouble off her hands; but she said to herself that she did not want it taken off. And she certainly did not want this long-legged fellow attending upon them everywhere. It was better to have him than St. Leger; that was all you could say.

The days in London were few and busy. Mr. Copley during this interval was very affectionate, very kind and attentive; in fact, so attentive to supplying or providing against every possible want that he found little time to be with his family. He and Rupert were perpetually flying out and in, ordering this and searching for that; a sort of joyous bustle seemed to be the order of the day; for he carried it on gleefully.

"Why, Mr. Copley," his wife said, when he brought her an elegant little leather case for holding the tinctures and medicines in which she indulged, "I thought we must economise so hard? I thought you had no money now-a-days? How is this, and what does it mean? this case must have cost a pound."

"You are worth more than a pound, my dear," Mr. Copley said with a sort of semi-earnestness.

"But I thought you were so poor all of a sudden?"

"We are going to turn a new leaf, and live frugally; so you see, on the strength of that, we can afford to be extravagant now and then."

"That seems to me a very doubtful way, Mr. Copley," said his wife, shaking her head.

"Don't be doubtful, my dear. Whatever else you do, go straight to your mark, and don't be doubtful. Humming and hawing never get on with anything. Care killed a cat, my dear."

"It has almost killed me," said poor Mrs. Copley. "Are we out of need of care, Frank?"

"You are. I'll take all the care for the family. My dear, we are going in for play, and Venice."

Dolly heard this, and felt a good deal cheered. What was her consternation, then, when the day of sailing came, and at the last minute, on board the packet, her father declared he must wait; he could not leave London yet for a week or two, but he could not let them be delayed; he would let St. Leger go to look after them, and he would catch them up before they got to Venice. All this was said in a breath, in a rush and hurry, at the moment of taking leave; the luggage was on board, Rupert was looking after it, Mr. St. Leger's elegant figure was just stepping across the gangway; and Mr. Copley kissed and shook hands and was off, with a word to Lawrence as he passed, before Mrs. Copley or Dolly could throw in more than an exclamation of dismay to stop him. Stop him! one might as well stop a gust of wind. Dolly saw he had planned it all; reckoned the minutes, got them off on purpose without himself, and with Mr. St. Leger. And here was Mr. St. Leger to be spoken to; coming up with his assured step and his handsome, indolent blue eyes, to address her mother. St. Leger was a nice fellow; he was neither a fool nor a coxcomb; but the sight of him was very disagreeable to Dolly just then. She turned away, as full of vexation as she could hold, and went to Rupert's side, who was looking after the luggage.

"Do you want to see your berth right away?" he asked her.

"My berth?" said Dolly.

"Well, yes; your cabin – state-room – whatever you call it – where you are to sleep. You know which it is; do you know where it is? I always like to get such things straightened out, first thing. Would you like to see it?"

"Oh yes, please," said Dolly; and grasping one of the hand-bags she turned away gladly from the deck. Anything for a little respite and solitude, from Mr. St. Leger. Rupert found the place, stowed bags and wraps and rugs conveniently away, and made Dolly as much at home as she could be at five minutes' notice.

"How long will the passage take?" she asked.

"Well, if I knew what the weather would be, I would tell you. Shall you be sick?"

"I don't know," said Dolly. "I believe I wish I may. Mr. Babbage, are you a Christian?"

"Well, I ain't a heathen, anyhow," said he, laughing a little.

"No, but that isn't what I mean. Of course you are not a heathen. But I mean – do you serve the Lord Jesus, and do you love Him?"

Dolly had it not in mind to make a confidant of her new squire; but in the terrible confusion and trouble of her spirits she grasped at any possible help or stay. The excitement of the minute lifted her quite out of ordinary considerations; if Rupert was a Christian, he might be a stand-by to her, and anyhow would understand her. So she asked. But he looked at her and shook his head. The thought crossed him that he was her servant, and her service was all that he was distinctly pledged to in his own mind. He shook his head.

"Then what do you do when you are in trouble?" she asked.

"Never been there," said Rupert. "Always find some way out, when I get into a fix. Why, are you in trouble?" he asked sympathetically.

"Oh," cried Dolly, "I am in trouble to death, because father hasn't come with us!" She could bear it no longer; even seventeen years old gives out sometimes; she burst into tears and sat down on a box and sobbed. All her hopes dashed to pieces; all her prospects dark and confused; nothing but disappointment and perplexity before her. What should she do with her mother, she alone? What should she do with Mr. St. Leger? a still more vexatious question. And what would become of her father, left to himself, and at what possible time in the future might she hope that he would break away from his ties and temptations and come to rejoin his family? Dolly sobbed in sorrow and bitterness of heart. Rupert Babbage stood and looked on wofully; and then delicately went out and closed the door.

Dolly's tears did her good. I think it was a help to her too, to know that she had so efficient and faithful a servant in the despised Rupert Babbage. At any rate, after a half hour or so, she made her appearance on deck and met Mr. St. Leger with a calm apparent unconcern, which showed her again equal to the occasion. Circumstances were making a woman of Dolly fast.

Mr. St. Leger's talk had in the meantime quieted Mrs. Copley. He assured her that her husband would soon come after and catch up with them. Now he turned his attention to Dolly and Rupert.

"Who is that fellow?" he asked Dolly, when Rupert had left them for a minute.

"He is a young man in my father's office. Did you never see him there?"

"But what is he doing here? We do not want him, it strikes me."

"He is very useful, and able."

"Well – aw – but cannot he keep his good qualities to their proper sphere? He is not an addition of much value to our society."

"Take care, Mr. St. Leger! He is an American; he cannot be set down with the servants."

"Why not, if his education and habits make that his place?"

"Oh, but they do not."

"It seems to me they do, if you will pardon me. This fellow has never been in any gentleman's society, except your father's."

"He will be a gentleman himself, in all essentials, one day, Mr. St. Leger. There is the difference. The capability is in him, and the ambition, and the independent and generous feeling. The foundations are all there."

"I'll confess the house when I see it."

"Ay, but you must in the meantime do nothing to hinder its building."

"Why must not I?" said Lawrence, laughing. "It is not my part to lay hold on a trowel and be a social mason. Still less is it yours."

"Oh, there you are wrong. I think it is everybody's part."

"Do you? But fancy, what a dreadful thing life would be in that way. Perpetual rubbish and confusion. And pardon me – can you pardon me? – that is my idea of America."

"I do not think it is a just one," said Dolly, as Rupert now drew near again.

"Is there not perpetual building going on there, of this kind as well as of the more usual?"

"Perhaps. I was very young when I left home. But what then?"

"Nothing. I have a preference for order and quiet, and things in their places."

"At that rate, you know," said Dolly, "nothing would ever have been built anywhere. I grant you, the order and quiet are pleasant when your own house is all that you desire. But don't you want to see your neighbour's house come up?"

"No," said Lawrence, laughing. "I have a better prospect from my windows if he remains as he is."

CHAPTER XVIII
A SQUARE PARTY

The passage was stormy and long. Mrs. Copley and her daughter were both soon fully occupied with attending to their own sensations; and neither Rupert nor Lawrence had any more power to annoy them till they reached quiet water again. But even in the depths of sea misery, Dolly's deeper distress broke forth. "My father! my father! What shall I do to save my father!" she was crying in her heart; all the while with a sense that every hour was bringing her further from him and from the chance of saving him.

Still, Dolly was seventeen; and at seventeen one cannot be always cast down; and when rough water and troubled skies, and ship noises and smells, were all left behind, as it seemed, in the German ocean, and Dolly found herself one morning in the hotel at Rotterdam, eating a very good breakfast, her spirits sprang up in spite of herself. The retiring wave of bodily misery carried with it for the moment all other. The sun was shining again; and after breakfast they stood together at one of the windows looking out upon the new world they had come to. Their hotel faced the quay: they saw before them an extent of water glittering in the sunshine, steamers waiting for their time of sailing, small craft flying about in all directions, and activity, bustle, and business filling every nook and corner of the scene. Dolly's heart leaped up; the stir was very inspiriting; and how lovely the sunshine was, and how pleasant the novelty! And then, to think that she had but touched the shore of novelty; that all Central Europe was behind her as she stood looking out on the quay! – Her father would surely catch them up somewhere, and then all would go well. She was silent, in the full joy of seeing.

"What's the next move?" said Lawrence. He did not care for Rotterdam quay. He had been looking at Dolly, charmed with the delicate, fresh picture she made. The line of frank pleasure on her lips, it was as frank as a child's, and the eyes were as absorbed; and yet they were grave, womanly eyes, he knew, not easy to cheat, with all their simplicity. The mingling of qualities was delicious, and not to be found elsewhere in all his sphere of experience. Even her little hands were full of character, with a certain precision of action and calm of repose which gave to all their movements a certain thorough-bred grace, which Lawrence could recognise though he could not analyse. Then the little head with its masses of wavy hair was so lovely, and the slim figure so full of that same certainty of action and grace of rest which he admired; there was nothing undecided about Dolly, and yet there was nothing done by rule. That again was a combination he did not know elsewhere. Her dress – he considered that too. It was the simplest of travelling dresses, with nothing to mark it, or draw attention, or make it unfit for its special use – in perfectly good taste. How did she know? thought Lawrence; for he knew as well as I do that she had not learned it of her mother. There was nothing marked about Mrs. Copley's appearance; nevertheless she lacked that harmony of simple good taste which was all over Dolly. Lawrence looked, until he saw that Rupert was looking too; and then he thought it was time to break up the exercise. "What is the next move?" he said.

"We have not settled that," said Dolly. "We could think of nothing on board ship. Mother, dear, now we are here, which way shall we go?"

"I don't know anything about ways," said Mrs. Copley. "Not here in this strange country."

"Then put it another way," said Lawrence. "Where do you want to go?"

"Why, to Venice," said Mrs. Copley, looking at him.

"Of course; but you want to see something by the way?"

"I left all that to Mr. Copley," said she, half whimpering. "When do you think he will come, Mr. St. Leger? I depended on my husband."

"He will come soon," said Lawrence. "But I would not recommend staying in Rotterdam to wait for him. What do you say to our asking him to meet us in Wiesbaden? To be sure, the season is over."

"Wiesbaden?" said Mrs. Copley.

"Wiesbaden?" cried Dolly. "Oh no, Mr. St. Leger! Not there, nor in any such place!"

"The season is over, Miss Dolly."

"I don't want to go to Wiesbaden. Mother, you wanted to see something – what was it?"

"Waterloo" – Mrs. Copley began.

"That would take us out of the way of everything – down into Belgium – and you would not see anything when you got there, Mrs. Copley. Only some fields; there is nothing left of the battle."

"But if I saw the fields, I could imagine the battle," said Mrs. Copley.

"Could you? Let us imagine something pleasanter. You don't want to go up the Rhine?"

"I don't want to go anywhere in a boat, Mr. St. Leger. I am going to keep on land, now I've got there. But I was thinking. – Somebody told me of some wonderful painted glass, somewhere near Rotterdam, and told me not to miss seeing it. Where is it?"

"I know," said Dolly; "the place was Gonda; in the cathedral. But where is Gonda?"

"Nine miles off," said Rupert.

"Then that's where I want to go," said Mrs. Copley. "I have heard all my life of painted glass; now I should like to see what it amounts to."

"Perhaps that would take us out of our way too, mother."

"I thought we just said we had no way settled," said Mrs. Copley in an irritated tone. "What's the use of being here, if we can't see anything now we are here? Nine miles isn't much, anyhow."

"We will go there, dear," said Dolly. "We can go so far and come back to this place, if necessary."

"And there is another thing I want to see, now we are here," Mrs. Copley went on. "I want to go to Dresden."

"Dresden!" cried St. Leger. "What's at Dresden?"

"A great many things, I suppose; but what I want to see is the Green vaults and the picture gallery."

"Mrs. Copley," said Lawrence quietly, "there are galleries of pictures everywhere. We shall find them at every step – more than you will want to look at, by a hundred fold."

"But we shall not find Green vaults, shall we? And you will not tell me that the Dresden madonna is anywhere but at Dresden?"

"I did not know you cared so much about pictures, mother," Dolly ventured.

"I don't!" said Mrs. Copley, – "not about the pictures; but I don't like to be here and not see what there is to see. I like to say I have seen it. It would be absurd to be here and not see things. Your father told me to go just where I wanted to; and if I don't go to Waterloo, I want to see Dresden."

"And from there?" said Lawrence.

"I don't know. I suppose we can find our way from there to Venice somehow."

"But do you not include Cologne Cathedral in the things you wish to see?"

"Cologne? I don't know about cathedrals. We are going to see one now, aren't we? Isn't one as good as another?"

"To pray in, I have no doubt," said Lawrence; "but hardly to look at."

"Well, you don't think churches ought to be built to look at, do you? I think that is wicked. Churches are meant for something."

"You would not object to looking at them when they are built? would you? Here we are now, going to see Gonda Cathedral."

"No, I am not," said Mrs. Copley. "I am going to see the glass windows. We shall not see them to-day if we stand here talking."

Lawrence ordered a carriage, and the party set out. He wished devoutly that it had numbered five instead of four, so that Rupert could have been sent outside. But the carnage held them all comfortably.

Dolly was a little uneasy at the travelling problem before her; however, no uneasiness could stand long against the charm of that morning's drive. The blessed familiar sun shone on a world so very different from all the world she had ever known before. On every hand were flower gardens; on both sides of the way; and in the midst of the flower gardens stood pleasant-looking country houses; while the road was bordered with narrow canals, over which drawbridges of extravagant size led to the houses. It was a rich and quaint and pretty landscape under the September sun; and Dolly felt all concern and annoyance melting away from her. She saw that her mother too was amused and delighted. Surely things would come out right by and by.

The town interested three of the party in a high degree.

"Well!" said Mrs. Copley, "haven't they learned here yet to turn the front of their houses to the street?"

"Perhaps they never will," said Lawrence. "Why should they?"

"Because things ought to be right, if it is only the fronts of houses," said the lady.

"I wouldn't mind which way they looked, if they would only hold up straight," said Rupert. "What ails the town?"

"Bad soil, most likely," returned Lawrence. "The foundations of Holland are moral, not physical."

"What do you mean by that?" said Mrs. Copley. "I am sure they have plenty of money. Is this the cathedral we are coming to?"

"St. Jans Kirk ."

"Well, if that's all! – It isn't handsome a bit!"

"It's real homely, that's a fact," said Rupert.

"You came to see the glass windows," said Lawrence. "Let us go in, and then pass judgment."

They went in, and then a low exclamation from Rupert was all that was heard. The ladies were absolutely mute before the blaze of beauty that met them.

"Well!" said Rupert after a pause of deep silence – "now I know what folks mean when they say something 'beats the Dutch.' That beats all I ever saw! – hollow."

"But how delicious!" exclaimed Dolly. "The work is so delicate. And oh, the colours! Mother, do you see that purple? Who is the person represented there, Mr. St. Leger?"

"That is Philip the Second. And it is not likely, I may remark, that any Dutchman painted it. That broken window was given to the church by Philip."

"Who did paint it, then?"

"I cannot say, really."

"What a pity it is broken!"

"But the others are mostly in very good keeping. Come on – here is the Duke of Alva."

"If I were a Dutch woman, I would break that," said Dolly.

"No, you wouldn't. Consider – he serves as an adornment of the city here. Breaking his effigy would not be breaking him, Miss Dolly."

"It must be a very strange thing to live in an old country," said Dolly. "I mean, if you belong to it. Just look at these windows! – How old is the work itself, Mr. St. Leger?"

"I am not wise in such things; – I should say it must date from the best period of the art. I believe it is said so."

"And when was that?"

"Really, I don't know; a good while ago, Miss Dolly."

"Philip II. came to reign about the middle of the sixteenth century," Rupert remarked.

"Exactly," St. Leger said, looking annoyed.

"Well, sir," Rupert went on, "I would like to ask you one thing – can't they paint as good a glass window now as they could then?"

"They may paint a better glass window, for aught I know," said Lawrence; "but the painting will not be so good."

"That's curious," said Rupert. "I thought things went for'ard, and not back, in the world. Why shouldn't they paint as well now as ever?"

Nobody spoke.

"Why should they not, Mr. St. Leger?" Dolly repeated.

"I don't know, I'm sure. Mrs. Copley, I'm afraid you are fatiguing yourself."

Mrs. Copley yielded to this gentle suggestion; and long, long before Dolly was ready to go, the party left the church to repair to a hotel, and have some refreshment. They were all in high spirits by this time.

"Is it settled where we are to go next?" Mr. St. Leger inquired as they sat at table.

"I don't care where next," said Mrs. Copley; "but only I want to come out at Dresden."

"But Dresden, mother" – said Dolly gently, "it is not in our way to Venice." She interpreted the expression she saw in Lawrence's face.

"Dolly, the Green vaults are in Dresden. I am not going to be so near and not see them. Wasn't I right about the painted windows? I never saw anything so beautiful in my life, nor you didn't. I wouldn't have missed it for anything. Now you'll see if I ain't right about the Green vaults."

"What do you expect to find in them?" Lawrence asked. "I do not remember anything about such a mysterious place."

"I have heard about it in London," Mrs. Copley answered. "Somebody who had been there told me about it, and I made up my mind I'd see it if ever I got a chance. It is like having Aladdin's lamp and going down into his vault – only you can't take away what you've a mind to; that's the only difference."

"But what is there? Aladdin's grotto was full of precious stones, if I remember."

"And so are these," cried Mrs. Copley. "There is an egg with a hen in it."

At this there was a general laugh.

"It's a fact," said Mrs. Copley. "And in the hen, or under it —in the hen, I believe – there is a crown of gold and diamonds and pearls, with a motto. Oh, it's wonderful. It's better than the Arabian Nights, if it's true."

"Except that we cannot take the egg away with us," said Lawrence. "However – pray, do they let in the indiscriminate public to see these wonders?"

"I don't know. I suppose there are ways to get in, or nobody would have been in."

"No doubt; the problem is, to find the way. Influence may be necessary, possibly."

"I daresay Mr. Copley can manage it. Do write and ask him what we must do, Dolly; and ask him to send us letters, or leave, or whatever we must have. Write to-day, will you? and ask him to send it right away. Of course there are ways to do things."

"May I make a suggestion?" said Lawrence. "If we are to go on to Dresden, why should we return to Rotterdam? We might send back to the hotel for our luggage, and meanwhile you can rest here. And then we can go on to Utrecht early to-morrow; or this evening, if you like. It would save time."

This plan met approval. Rupert volunteered to go back and bring Mrs. Copley's belongings safely to Gonda.

"And while you are about it, bring mine too, my good fellow, will you?" said St. Leger as Rupert was about to go. He spoke somewhat superciliously. But the other answered with cool good humour.

"All right. I'll do that, on the understanding that you'll do as much for me next time." And he went.

"Confound him!" said Lawrence; while Dolly smiled.

"Hush!" she said. "I am sure that is a fair bargain."

"Where did Mr. Copley pick up such a green hand?"

"Did you never see him at the office?"

"What office?"

"The Consul's office, in London. You have been there enough."

"Oh, ah – the Consul's office," said Lawrence. "True, if he was there I must have seen him. But what do we want of him here?"

"He is useful to you just now," said Dolly.

But afterwards she took up the question again and, what Lawrence did not dream of, included his name in it. Why was either of these young men there? This time of waiting at the hotel gave Dolly a chance to think; and while she sat at the window and watched the strange figures and novel sights in the street, her mind began to go over more questions than one. She felt in a sort lost without her father. Here were she and her mother taking a journey through Europe in the care of these two young men. What were they there for? Rupert certainly for her pleasure and service, she knew; Lawrence, she was equally sure, for his own. How should she manage them? for Lawrence must not be encouraged, while at the same time he could not be sent away. At least, not yet. Careful, and cool, and womanly, she must be; and that was not so very difficult, for poor Dolly felt as if glad childish days were past for her.

Another question was, how she should get the most good of her journey, and how she could help Rupert, who, she could see, was on the watch to improve himself. Dolly had a sympathy for him. She resolved that she would study up every subject that presented itself, and set Rupert upon doing the same. St. Leger might take care of himself. Yet Dolly's conscience would not let him go so. No; one can be nobody's travelling companion for days or weeks, without having duties to fulfil towards him; but Dolly thought the duties were very difficult in this her particular case. If her father would but come! And therewith Dolly sat down and wrote him the tenderest, lovingest of letters, telling him about their journey, and the glass windows; and begging him to meet them in Dresden or before, so that they might see the fabulous Green vaults together. In any case, she begged him to make such provision that Mrs. Copley might not be disappointed of seeing them. All Dolly's eloquence and some tears were poured out upon that sheet of paper; and as she sealed it up she felt again that she was surely growing to be a woman; the days of her childhood were gone.

Not so far off, however, but that Dolly's spirits sprang up again after the letter was despatched, and were able to take exquisite pleasure in everything the further journey offered. Even the unattractive was novel, and what was not unattractive was so charming. She admired the quaint, clean, bright, fanciful Dutch towns; the abundance of flowers still to be seen abroad; the smiling country places surrounding the towns; the strange carvings and devices on the houses; the crooked streets.

"You are the first person I ever saw," Lawrence said admiringly, "who found beauty in crooked streets."

"Do you like straight ones?" said Dolly.

"Certainly. Why not?"

"You look from end to end; you see all there is at once; walk and walk as you may, there is no change, but the same wearisome lines of houses. Now when streets are not straight, but have windings and turnings, you are always coming to something new."

"I suppose you like them to be up hill and down too?"

"Oh, very much!"

"You do not find that in Holland."

"No, but in Boston."

"Ah, indeed!" said Lawrence.

"I wonder," Dolly went on, "what makes one nation so different from another. You are on an island; but here there is only a line between Holland and Germany, and the people are not alike."