not to tumble into a canal, and the Dutch mother never appears to
anticipate such possibility. One can imagine the average English
mother trying to bring up a family in a house surrounded by canals.
She would never have a minute's peace until the children were in bed.
But then the mere sight of a canal to the English child suggests the
delights of a sudden and unexpected bath. I put it to a Dutchman
once. Did the Dutch child by any chance ever fall into a canal?

"Yes," he replied, "cases have been known."

"Don't you do anything for it?" I enquired.

"Oh, yes," he answered, "we haul them out again."

"But what I mean is," I explained, "don't you do anything to prevent
their falling in--to save them from falling in again?"

"Yes," he answered, "we spank 'em."

There is always a wind in Holland; it comes from over the sea. There
is nothing to stay its progress. It leaps the low dykes and sweeps
with a shriek across the sad, soft dunes, and thinks it is going to
have a good time and play havoc in the land. But the Dutchman laughs
behind his great pipe as it comes to him shouting and roaring.
"Welcome, my hearty, welcome," he chuckles, "come blustering and
bragging; the bigger you are the better I like you." And when it is
once in the land, behind the long, straight dykes, behind the waving
line of sandy dunes, he seizes hold of it, and will not let it go
till it has done its tale of work.