"I believe they're the inhabitants of the place, who've hurriedly changed into birds just while we are here, but will change back into little, trim old ladies and old gentlemen," whispered Nell; for it seemed sacrilege to break the silence.
With that, a house door opened, and just such an old lady as she described came out.
"Oh, she didn't know we were here. She won't have time to get into her birdhood now," chuckled Nell, "so she's making the best of it. But see, she's turned to warn her husband."
"She hasn't any husband," said I.
"How can you tell?" asked the girl.
"If she had, she couldn't live here," I explained, "because this is the Begynenhof, half almshouse, half nunnery, which has been kept up since our great year, 1574. But oddly enough the chapel of the sisterhood who established it, has been turned into an English church. Queer, in the little Catholic village hidden away from the great city; but so it is. And isn't it a serene spot?"
"Almost nicer than Aalsmeer," murmured the Chaperon. "I wonder if——"
But Starr was at the door of the exit before she could finish wondering.
The palace, more suitable for a magnificent town hall than a regal dwelling, was the next violent contrast in my bag of colors; but, royal though it was, there was nothing in it they cared for much except the throne-room, which they had to admit was not to be surpassed. There were a few mantel-pieces too, which the Chaperon thought she would accept from the Queen as presents; but as for the carpets, they were no less than tragic, and it would be better to go about opening bridges, or laying dull cornerstones, then stay at home and look at them.
My way of showing Amsterdam was to work slowly up to a grand crescendo effect; and the crescendo was the Ryks Museum. We had two days of Amsterdam (the second was mostly spent at the diamond cutters') before I suggested the museum.