But the rosy-cheeked maiden. Ah! how she bustled about. How she gave the boys polished high-backed chairs to sit upon, how she made the fire blaze up as if it were inspired, how she made Jacob Poot almost weep for joy by bringing forth a great square of gingerbread, and a stone jug of sour wine! How she laughed and nodded as the boys ate like wild animals on good behavior, and how blank she looked when Ben politely but firmly refused to take any black bread and sour-krout! How she pulled off Jacob's mitten, which was torn at the thumb, and mended it before his eyes, biting off the thread with her white teeth, and saying, "now it will be warmer," as she bit; and finally, how she shook hands with every boy in turn and (throwing a deprecating glance at the female automaton) insisted upon filling their pockets with gingerbread!
All this time the knitting-needles clicked on, and the pipe never missed a puff.
When the boys were fairly on their way again, they came in sight of Zwanenburg Castle with its massive stone front, and its gateway towers, each surmounted with a sculptured swan.
"Halfweg,[19] boys," said Peter, "off with your skates."
"You see," explained Lambert to his companion, "the Y and the Haarlem Lake meeting here make it rather troublesome. The river is five feet higher than the land—so we must have everything strong in the way of dykes and sluice-gates, or there would be wet work at once. The sluice arrangements here are supposed to be something extra—we will walk over them and you shall see enough to make you open your eyes. The spring water of the lake, they say, has the most wonderful bleaching powers of any in the world; all the great Haarlem bleacheries use it. I can't say much upon that subject—but I can tell you one thing from personal experience."
"What is that?"
"Why, the lake is full of the biggest eels you ever saw—I've caught them here, often—perfectly prodigious! I tell you they're sometimes a match for a fellow; they'd almost wriggle your arm from the socket if you were not on your guard. But you're not interested in eels, I perceive. The castle's a big affair. Isn't it?"
"Yes. What do those swans mean? Anything?" asked Ben, looking up at the stone gate-towers.
"The swan is held almost in reverence by us Hollanders. These give the building its name, Zwanenburg—swan-castle. That is all I know. This is a very important spot; for it is here that the wise ones hold council with regard to dyke matters. The castle was once the residence of the celebrated Christiaan Brunings."
"What about him?" asked Ben.