“Where are your mules for drawing your boat?”

“My boat sails!” she said, proudly.  “If there is no wind, I drag it along myself.  That is the way we do in our country.”

[Illustration:  “CHARLOTTE WAS PUSHING THE BOAT ALONG, MAKING HER WAY TO THE LANDING-STAIRS.”]

The American vessels were now unpacked and displayed.  When the girls saw these sharp-prowed, graceful ships, with their tapering masts and pretty sails, their eyes glistened, and they declared that never before had they seen anything so lovely.  Their, pride in their canal-boats suffered a woful downfall.  The boys proposed to try all the vessels on the canal at the back of the house, but Greta objected.

“Mother never lets us go there to sail our boats,” she said.  “It is a dirty place, and she is afraid we will fall in.  But there is a beautiful stream by the mill where we are going to-morrow, and there we can try our boats, and see which goes the fastest.”

“Let us take a walk, then,” said Martin.  “I want to look at this queer place.”

The Van Shaicks lived in Zaandam, and it is indeed a queer place to American eyes.  It is a large town, with but two streets, one on each side of the Zaan River; but these two extend for a long distance, and are crossed at frequent intervals by canals, so that Martin soon got tired counting the little bridges the children passed over in their walk.  Will was not quite sure whether the brick-paved street was all road-way or all sidewalk.

“I don’t see any carriages,” he said, after studying this matter for some time.

“People don’t ride much here,” said Greta.  “There are plenty of carriages in Amsterdam.”

“How do you get about, then?”

“On our feet and in boats.  Look at our fine river, and there are ever so many canals!  What do we want with carriages?”

“It must be jolly going everywhere in boats,” said Will.  “I should like that!”

“We have some very pretty boats,” said Greta, much pleased.  “Oh! wouldn’t you like to go fishing?  I’ll ask father to take us some day soon.  I saw a net in the market-boat this morning.”

“Well, if that isn’t funny!” cried Martin, with a burst of laughter.  Will joined in the laugh, and Greta looked around in vain to discover the cause of their merriment.

“Looking-glasses on the outside of the houses!” explained Martin, pointing to one opposite.  “I guess they’re put there for the girls to look in as they walk along,” he added, mischievously.  “They can’t wait to get home to admire themselves.”

Sure enough, there was a mirror outside the window, set at such an angle that the persons inside the house could see who was passing up and down the street.  And there was a mirror on the next house, and the next.

“Why, they are on all the houses!” said Will.

“To be sure!” said Greta.  “What is there funny in that?  And the girls don’t look in them any more than the boys, Mr. Martin.  Don’t you ever want to know what is going on in the street?”