It was so early that I am able to say nothing of the country between Groningen and Meppel, the capital of the peat trade, save that it was peaty: heather and fir trees, shallow lakes and men cutting peat, as far as eye could reach on either side.
Here in the peat country I might quote a very pretty Dutch proverb: "There is no fuel more entertaining than wet wood and frozen peat: the wood sings and the peat listens".

The Dutch have no lack of folk lore, but the casual visitor has not the opportunity of collecting very much.

When there is too much salt in the dish they say that the cook is in love.

When a three-cornered piece of peat is observed in the fire, a visitor is coming.

When bread has large holes in it, the baker is said to have pursued his wife through the loaf.