"That is nothing. Every parlor in Broek meets with the same treatment," said Lambert. "What do you think of these moving figures in her neighbor's garden?"
"Oh, they're well enough; the swans must seem really alive gliding about the pond in summer; but that nodding Mandarin in the corner, under the chestnut trees, is ridiculous, only fit for children to laugh at. And then the stiff garden patches, and the trees all trimmed and painted. Excuse me, Van Mounen, but I shall never learn to admire Dutch taste."
"It will take time," answered Lambert, condescendingly, "but you are sure to agree with it at last. I saw much to admire in England, and I hope I shall be sent back with you, to study at Oxford; but take everything together, I like Holland best."
"Of course you do," said Ben, in a tone of hearty approval, "you wouldn't be a good Hollander if you didn't. Nothing like loving one's country. It is strange, though, to have such a warm feeling for such a cold place. If we were not exercising all the time we should freeze outright."
Lambert laughed.
"That's your English blood, Benjamin. I'm not cold. And look at the skaters here on the canal—they're red as roses, and happy as lords. Hallo! good Captain van Holp," called out Lambert in Dutch, "what say you to stopping at yonder farmhouse and warming our toes?"
"Who is cold?" asked Peter, turning around.
"Benjamin Dobbs."
"Benjamin Dobbs shall be warmed," and the party was brought to a halt.