It was Springtime in Holland, and the air was filled with the scent of the first wild-flowers and the sweet green grass. Sitting on the doorstep of one of the pretty red-roofed houses, set close to the dike, in the quaint little fishing village of Volendam, was a yellow-haired, blue-eyed Dutch lass. Her name was Katrina Rijs. On her lap she held a fat, round Dutch cheese which she was busily polishing.
Standing motionless on one leg and watching her intently from the top of a high pole, apparently placed there especially for his use, was a stork. He, too, had just arrived with the Spring, and Katrina was delighted, for in Holland the family whose housetop was chosen by the stork for a nesting-place was indeed considered in great luck.
Since early dawn Katrina had been hard at work. She had helped her mother with the weekly baking of black bread. She had scrubbed and scoured the pots and pans, as only a Dutch girl knows how to do, and then when there was nothing left to polish, she had patted into shape the precious mounds of home-made cheese, and now she was polishing them with oil that they, too, might glisten.
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