"I should say that was slang," interposed Paul.
"It means, 'Not so bad.'"
"Well, it isn't so bad, after all," added the doctor, glancing back at the "zomerhuis," as they retired, with many thanks to the proprietor for the privilege granted to them.
The hoarse croaking of the locomotive whistle, which appeared to have a cold in its head, drummed the students together again, and the train proceeded.
"This is the Rhine," said the doctor, as they went over a bridge.
"The Rhine!" exclaimed Paul, jumping out of his seat. "Why, it isn't anything!"
"That is true; but you must remember that this is the old Rhine,—the part which was dug out, robbed of the burden of its waters by the Yssel, the Leck, and the Waal. The Rhine of Germany is quite another affair. The mouth of the Rhine is eight miles below Leyden. It was closed for a thousand years."
"What became of its waters? They must have gone somewhere," said Paul.
"They disposed of themselves in various small streams, and worked their way to the ocean, or soaked into the sands. The mouth of the river was opened in 1809, by an engineer, under the direction of Louis Napoleon, King of Holland. But the ocean at high tide was higher than the river, and to prevent the sea from flowing back into the country and disturbing the system of dikes, immense gates were made in the sluiceways constructed for the purpose. When the tide comes in, these gates are shut. At low tide they are opened to let the water out. Indeed, this is true of all the canals, which are provided with gates at each end, like a dock. The dikes at the mouth of the Rhine are stupendous works; and as the foundation is nothing but sand, they are built on piles, and the face of them is of stone. This is Leyden."
"What is there here?" asked Paul, as they got out of the carriage.