“I don’t think you ought to be so cock-sure.”
“But I am. Here, do you want to swim across?”
“No.”
“All right! We’ll turn south along its banks!”
Soon we came abreast of a house which lay a hundred yards or so to the east, toward Germany.
“Let’s go have a look,” I suggested. We did so.
The whole character of the cottage, for such it was, struck me as un-German. I pulled out my torch: “This isn’t German. Look at that front door. Decorated with painted flowers!”
Kent arrived breathlessly from somewhere: “This can’t be Germany! There is a big dish, full of potatoes, on the table in the front room!”
“Let’s knock!”
We knocked. We had no time to ask questions, for, before the last rap had sounded, “Holland! Holland!” called a male voice from within.