THE CITY OF JACQUELINE 



45 



done. He drives away to stable his prized 

 horse and to attend to his own afifairs. 



The butter market is ready for busi- 

 ness about I o'clock. If 3'-ou saunter in 

 then through the iron gateway, now 

 standing hospitably wide to invite buyers, 

 you will find the front row of benches 

 occupied around all three sides of the 

 arcade with close-set rows of heavy bas- 

 kets and the back row by the wall with 

 a hundred or more rosy farmers' wives 

 and daughters, dainty as the proverbial 

 new pin, in glistening white caps, gold 

 spirals, coral necklaces, many finger- 

 rings, and best black aprons over the 

 second-best gown. The very best belongs 

 to festivals and kermis. 



The work-a-day apron is of plaid ging- 

 ham ; you will see it upon the serving- 

 maids who come from various houses to 

 purchase the week's supply of fresh but- 

 ter. When the farmer's wife comes to 

 town she replaces it by one of black 

 sateen or "farmer's satin," almost as long 

 and full as her skirts and close shirred 

 at the waist in many fine, even rows. 

 Her bodice is black likewise ; but a shield- 

 shaped tucker is frequently of gay colors, 

 and the sleeve is but an apology, ending 

 far above the elbow in a broad and very 

 tight black velvet band. 



A pre;tty picture: 



The gay frontispiece and the bare arms 

 give an air of gaiety to the somber cos- 

 tume, and the upturned gold spirals at 

 each temple are fine hangers for many 

 broad pearl-tipped pendants, which quite 

 belie the demure primness of the close 

 white cap. 



They are not so demure after all, these 

 dainty little dames who trip so swiftly 

 and lightly from house to hoiise, from 

 shop to shop, from booth to booth, in the 

 market-place. They are mischievous and 

 roguish, despite the somewhat puritanical 

 air lent by their garb, and quick at rep- 

 artee and banter as our friend from 

 Cork, whom in vivacity they somewhat 

 resemble. 



M. Havard in his inimitable book on 

 Zeeland records the answers of the saucy 

 girl whose mother "knew her name be- 

 fore she did," and 70 years ago Hilde- 

 brand, whose pictures of Dutch life are 

 so truthfully charming, must have known 



her ancestress, for he tells the same story. 

 Her daughters today might echo, "Ask 

 mother, she knew it first," if you insist 

 upon inquiring her name. She has no 

 objection to your knowing it, but much 

 pleasure in teasing you. 



You will find her perhaps in the mar- 

 ket-place with her own small daughter 

 or son beside her. There is always room 

 for a chubby boy or girl among the bas- 

 kets when mother comes to town in Wal- 

 cheren. You miss them in Zuid-Beve- 

 land, where she frequently rides into 

 market upon a bicycle. They are so 

 funny — so cunning, we would say — these 

 little replicas in miniature of their par- 

 ents. 



A tiny maid of four, a wee laddie 

 unable to speak plainly, wear precisely 

 the same costume as mother or father — 

 full, long, black skirts, white cap, tiny 

 gold spiral, coral beads, and aprons for 

 one ; black cloth or velvet trousers and 

 jacket, much adorned with silver buttons, 

 silver-buckled shoes, and queer black hat 

 for the other. 



You may have seen them buying 

 sweeties or fruit in the market-place, 

 eyeing the coveted baubles which kermis 

 brings, or waiting patiently while mother 

 bargains for a new tea-pot ; and if you 

 look closely you will meet them again 

 here in the butter market, wedged in be- 

 tween the chubby mothers and half -hid- 

 den by the voluminous skirts. Dear little 

 round baby faces looking out from a 

 frame of quaint old-worldly dress ! 



the: butte:r market 



When market begins the wrappings are 

 folded back from the well-filled baskets ; 

 first a print cover to keep the white one 

 fresh and clean, then snowy white dam- 

 ask, and beneath it rolls of golden butter 

 wrapped in fresh green leaves, or dozens 

 of big pinky-white eggs translucent in 

 their freshness. 



The buyers come in numbers, crowd- 

 ing along the rows ; the bargaining is 

 brisk and keen ; the big-headed bag, with 

 its rich silver clasps, which so many of 

 the country women wear swinging from 

 the waistband, grows heavy with coin, 

 and a roll of bills is perhaps tucked away 

 in the huge pocket hidden beneath the 

 flowing skirt. 



