"That would be reason enough for stopping at Assen," said Brederode. "There are things to see there, very good and unique things; but ordinary tourists don't often hear about them, and if Sir Alec MacNairne is chasing us, he'll glide by Assen without a thought."
This put a different face on the matter, and I was able to smile calmly when Alb whetted the Angels' appetite by describing the treasures concealed among the groves surrounding Assen. They were not exactly at Assen, it seemed, but Assen was the starting-point, and from there you set forth in carriages to Rolde, for the purpose of gazing upon Hunnebetten.
What these might be, when you found them, I had not an idea, though pride forbade me to inquire of Alb, especially before the girls. But pride never forbids Aunt Fay's little counterfeit presentment (perhaps it will save time if in the future I allude to her as the L.C.P.) to ask any question. She is never satisfied with guide-books, but demands and absorbs information about every place we visit, scribbling down notes in the book she wears on her chatelaine. (There must have been dozens of "refills" fitted in between the silver covers since we started, though what she wants of the stuff she collects, I can't imagine.) She did not hesitate to exclaim, "What on earth are Hunnebetten?" And there was no ignominy in listening, with a bored air of having been born knowing these things, while Alb described the objects as supposed graves of Huns, built of glacier-borne stones.
Next morning we drove out to worship at these ancient shrines, winding along a charming, wooded road, through avenues of young oaks, balsamic pine forests, and acres of purple heather, to say nothing of a certain pink flower which must be heather's Dutch cousin.
Some of the Hunnebetten were hidden in the woods, others rose gloomily out of the sweet simplicity of a hayfield, but each contrived to give the effect of a miniature Stonehenge, and had there been only one monument instead of three, it would have been worth the trouble we took to see it. Besides, our expedition was rewarded in another way. When we returned to the boats after breakfasting at a café in the woods, it was to hear that a motor-launch, patriotically bearing the name of "Wilhelmina," had gone by, faster than the legal limit, as if in haste to reach Meppel. According to Hendrik and Toon, a tall gentleman had sprung up from the deck-chair, rushed to the rail, and stared hard at "Mascotte"; but "Wilhelmina" had not slowed down.
On hearing this news, I was inclined to make an excuse for lingering at Assen; but Alb was of opinion that it would be as safe, and far less dull, to go on. "Wilhelmina" was well ahead; and in any case we did not mean to stop the night at Meppel. If we saw Sir Alec's launch there, we could easily slip past, all passengers in the cabin and Hendrik at the helm; whereas, if we did not see her, she would not be able to see us.
We were in the province of Drenthe now, and it looked as little Dutch as might be. Even the canal had the air of disguising itself as the Long Water at Hampton Court, instead of being content to seem what it was; and after we had passed a few dignified mansions and farmhouses, we came to a region of squalid cottages with sullen-faced, short-haired women, and children shy as wild creatures of the wood, staring at us from low-browed doorways. It was not until we were far on our eight hours' journey to Meppel, that we slipped once more into a characteristic region of peace and plenty; marching lines of dark trees, with foregrounds of pink and azure flowers, or golden grain; mossy, thatched roofs, and red tiles crusted with golden lichen. But fortunately for the disposal of our toy supply, renewed at Assen, the watery way was starred with red, green, and blue barges inhabited by large families of violet-eyed, tow-headed infants. If by chance we encountered a childless barge, we glared resentment at the grown-ups. What were they thinking of, not to have babies, these people?
The meadow-ringed world of water and sky was all charm and grace and quaintness again, at Meppel and beyond, and I was in a mood to appreciate its beauty there, for we had a glimpse of "Wilhelmina" in harbor, and apparently deserted. Passing within distant sight of her as she lay in harbor, Brederode gaily put on speed; for we had got beyond the "legal limit" obstructions of the Drenthe canal, into the freedom of the Ober Issel, a wide glitter of water, noble as the Frisian meers we had left.
Never was there an evening more exquisite than this, as we floated on through the sunset, with the old town of Zwolle for our night goal.
We were in the Swarzermeer, said Brederode; but there was nothing black about it, except the name. Sky and water had all the rich colors of an opal, and so clear were they, so alike in tints and brightness, that we seemed to hang in the midst of a rainbow bubble.