A DUTCH VROUW. 203 



his veins. '' Kip ? Myn God ! " he exclaimed. 

 '' Wat meant you ? Neen, neen ! If I kill een 

 kip, de kip don't never be a hen, en daar won't 

 be no eyeren. If I killed kippen last year, you 

 don't won't get no eyeren mit your ham to- 

 day !" As the French say, " he had reason." 

 It was a sound argument, and I was convinced 

 of its force when a very nice dish of ham and 

 eggs was served by the vrouw of my landlord. 

 She was a woman with a head such as Rubens 

 was wont to paint, hair combed back and sur- 

 mounted by a cap that might serve for day or 

 night; blue eyes, rosy cheeks and lips. She 

 was dressed in a short woollen gown with a 

 white apron in front and nothing behind ; she 

 could sit down without inconvenience to her- 

 self, and she could stand up in a crowd without 

 inconvenience to others. 



Two little girls, with their yellow hair braided 

 and coiled on the backs of their heads, and 

 held in place by high horn combs, were sitting 

 on the floor, holding and balling up a skein of 

 yarn, and that uncarpeted floor was as clean as 

 the table-cloth and the bright ware upon it. 

 Surrounded by these pretty pictures, which 

 seemed to have been taken from their frames 

 and spread about for my entertainment, I dined 



