cording to tradition, the mourning of mills originated with two brothers, both millers, living some distance apart. The father lay ill at the home of the elder, and he agreed to notify his brother in case the old man passed away by removing the boards from the arms of his mill, thereby in a way telegraphing the news. On the sale of a mill there was a custom of presenting the new owner with an especially designed spoon of silver, engraved with the portrait and name of the mill.

Handling a mill has its perils, and many interesting stories are told in this connection. The present miller at Vyfhuisen, a little village on the Haarlemmermeer polder, tells how his grandfather made a complete loop-the-loop on one of the wings. The old man was engaged in tying the sails to the wings, when a passing friend called out a greeting. The assistant on the other side mistook this for the signal to start and let her go. Grandpa hung on for dear life and made the complete circle, having for a moment the

in the air. Fortunately, the mi stopped when he came down again siderably ruffled in temper, but no worse for his experience. To stand to a big mill and look along the stretch of the wings, is to realize t must have been an exciting trip fo old man in the days when aeroplanes unknown.

Zaandam through its location be known as the city of windmills. Th ginning of the seventeenth century them rise in great numbers on the ders of the Zaan. They pressed oil seeds, sawed logs into planks, made into paper, ground wheat, chalk, co and chocolate. In the days of the p dered wig, they were famous for the s they made for the beruffled dand These industrial mills were closely in woven with the daily life of the people Zaandam and the neighboring villag Practically the entire population pended on them for employment a livelihood. Often the mills changed ow

centuries the only one know standard mill, or spinbol, as i old prints and paintings. Th kinds of standard mills, the op closed. In the closed standa

Comelis Bo

tion it was "EE-oo-hoo," when out of balance "jer-iikoo." Tsar Peter the Great during his stay in Zaandam, in 1697, while he worked as a shipbuilder under the name of Peter Michaeloff, nailed some boards on a mill then under

construction. The proud

chris Owner

construction is covered with thatc wood, from which it derives its n The standard was essentially a flourand did not prove practical for the pu ing of water. As a result, in searching a model to meet this need, the whip

was horn

It has the

rests on a loose ring turning on a stone base; in turning the whole body moves. Very few of this type are left. The wellknown bovenkruiers, or topturners, are octagon, and they are the most perfect development of the mill. The main body is stationary; the cap, to which are attached the wings, alone turns. The beams visible on the outside serve to distribute the weights and help balance when turning. The construction is of heavy timber covered with thatch, made from the reeds that line every watercourse in Holland. This thatch, although very beautiful in color and texture, is very inflammable and once alight its burning brands spread destruction, one burning mill thus igniting its neighbors. Considering that in their day the mills often stood so close together that the workmen were able to toss their tobaccosacks back and forth while on the balconies or upper parts of the mills, it is not to be wondered at that so many have been destroyed by fire. Some were burned and rebuilt three times. In cities with the exception of Zaandam most mills were round and built of brick, lessening the danger from fire.

Later came the small water-mills which pump the water from the lowest ditches to the upper and larger ones, where the big water-mills take up the work and pass the water on to the canals. These little mills are built of wood, the base being a pyramid on top of which the square body rests, a survival of the primitive spinbol. Placed at regular intervals all over the polder country, each is surrounded by its little fence to keep inquisitive cows from interfering with its most necessary functions.

With the passing of so many bea old mills after their long period of fa service, it is not to be wondered at many people who have long loved cherished their familiar and pictur forms regret their going and are tryi save the few that are left. There stand true to the end, the last of vast army of winged warriors who helped to fight Holland's battle witl age-old enemy, the sea, to feed and c her people, to build her ships, and t tablish her prosperity. Their e sturdy bodies seem like watchers ove land. When the winds come flying a the polders, to see them swing their w merrily, majestically against a glo sky, now and then a flash of sun turning them into flaming swords, is a glimpse into the heroic past.

Starting out on a tramp from al any Dutch town, in that happy sponsible mood, no definite destina and time forgotten, it is invariably s friendly mill in the distance that all the wandering footsteps, and a visit repays the effort. The seemingly mill increases in size at every turn, it becomes a great giant swinging mighty arms, vital with life and po imbued with a great spirit, the sam domitable spirit that filled the he and sails of the early Dutch naviga sending them fearlessly to remote ners of unknown seas. For the sak the vagabonds and the poets, the ar and the lovers of the picturesque even the ubiquitous tourist with guide-book, let it be hoped that some may be found to save the windmill Holland.

O stranger, seeing Jo and Ted Renwick swinging up the fairway of the Green Bay Country Club, would ever suspect that they were mother and son. Jo, holing out on the eighteenth green, right under the clubhouse porch, got many a pleasant eartingling echoes which floated down from above.

"That slim girl-in the cherry-colored sport dress? She can't be his mother!" "Yes-regular pals

Ted, glorious, great fellow, crouching pantherlike to measure his putt, tense on making a four to halve the hole, had no ears for eavesdropping. "Gol ding it! Missed it! It's your match, all right, Jo. You're getting too good for your teacher." "Well, old pal," smiling, she quoted the word, "what's the difference who wins?

There had always been about wick's golf game an aura of al She had begun playing on account husband. She had continued play account of her son.

Eight years ago the doctor h sisted on outdoor exercise for Chris wick-that spring following his att pneumonia. For his sake, she had they would give up the idea of hav second maid for that year and joi Green Bay Country Club. The clu a late acquisition-following a real-e boom of Green Bay as a summer res

Good times, those early games! ding over the soft turf, sniffing their around the new-mown links-like hu cattle released from winter stallsgling at each other's futile, awkward tempts!

"Look at them!" Chris would s pointing to some of the newcom "Gosh, but they take themselves s