"Garth shall bring over both horses to-morrow," said Hardy, "and I will ride over; and I dare say Herr Jensen will accompany us, and lend my man a horse, as we should want him at Rosendal. If you assent, I will send a message to the bailiff, as you might like a little refreshment there."

"A most excellent plan, Herr Hardy!" exclaimed Froken Mathilde; "but it leaves little mother home alone, which is the only fault in it. But you will drive, won't you, little father, and take mother and Herr Hardy's groom?"

Of course everything was ordered as Froken Mathilde Jensen wished. She had made her father make many a sacrifice of his money and own wishes, but she repaid him with her real affection for him.

As the evening drew on, Hardy and the two boys left, and tried the proprietor's little stream with a fly. The trout rose freely, and Hardy caught about a dozen. The fish rose best to a gray-winged sedge fly, when thrown high over the water and falling slowly and softly near the reeds. Karl and Axel had little success, the perfect stillness of the water to them was a difficulty.

When they arrived at the parsonage, the Pastor was smoking in his accustomed chair, and his daughter was singing to him. She stopped as soon as she heard the carriage wheels. And after speaking a few words to the Pastor, Hardy went to his room. Karl and Axel remained, and, like other boys who go about very little, were very full of the day's experiences. The trying the horses was described, and Froken Mathilde Jensen's explanation of why Hardy had bought Rosendal was given in full, with Fru Jensen's statement as to Kapellan Holm; so that when John Hardy came from his room, he saw that something had passed which had disturbed both the Pastor and his daughter. He at once judged correctly what had occurred. The boys were in the habit of saying what was uppermost.

It was clear, then, that what Proprietor Jensen had said about Froken Helga was correct.

"We have caught a few trout," said Hardy, "and taken a few to the Jensens, who were so good as to make us stay to dinner, with the kind hospitality so conspicuous in Denmark."

"They are hospitable people," said the Pastor.

"But great gossips," added the daughter, who had scarcely noticed Hardy since his return. She got up and left the room.

Hardy determined to risk a question. "Your daughter is, the Jensens say, attached to a Kapellan Holm, Herr Pastor?" said he, inquiringly.

"No, decidedly not," said the Pastor. "I am sorry to say she dislikes him; his manner is not pleasant, and she considers him addicted to drink, of which I have never observed any sign. He is a good man, a little boisterous in manner. He is coming here to assist me in the winter, and will live with us. He is now in Copenhagen."

Hardy thought Helga Lindal difficult to understand. That she would marry a man that the Pastor had described was not consistent with her character; but, then, women do inconsistent things. Her manner to him was not courteous—it was unfriendly; but now and then she would speak warmly and gratefully for any kindness Hardy showed her father.

"Godseier Jensen and his family are going to Rosendal to-morrow," said Hardy, after smoking some time in silence.

"Yes," said Karl; "the Froken Jensens want to ride Herr Hardy's horses."

Helga had returned, and heard what Karl said.

"Froken Mathilde Jensen is a girl with a cheerful character, open and honest, like the Danes naturally are," said Hardy.

"I think she is a great deal too forward!" said Helga, sharply.

Hardy looked at her; it was clear she meant what she said. To his view there was nothing to condemn in Mathilde Jensen's conduct. She had good animal spirits, was natural in manner, and affectionate to her parents, who rather spoilt her.

The next day Hardy rode his English horse to the Jensens' Herregaard, and Garth followed with both the Danish horses.

The Jensens were all on the doorsteps, as Hardy trotted up. The proprietor received him warmly, and his family did the like. He walked round Hardy's horse and admired him, as he had done on a previous occasion.

"It is the breadth of his loins," he said, "that sends him over his jumps. I never saw anything so fine as when he passed the other horses, taking his leaps like nothing; and how he came in with a grand stride, by the winning post!"

"As you breed horses, Herr Jensen," said Hardy, "you should import an English mare of Buffalo's stamp; it would enormously improve your breeding stud. A stallion would not do so well, and would be very costly. It is a slower process, but a more certain one."

"Yes; but we Danes are poor," said the proprietor, "and I cannot afford the purchase of such a mare."

"When I return to England, I will see what I can do for you," said Hardy.

The side saddles were placed on Hardy's Danish horses, and they went to Rosendal, the Froken Jensens enjoying the ride greatly.

Fru Jensen went through the dairy and criticized, her husband did the same with the farm buildings, and gave Hardy useful and practical advice, which Hardy noted down and afterwards followed.

They strolled through the beech woods, and saw the valley of roses in its ragged and neglected condition. But the good proprietor would insist on seeing the farm, and on this also he gave Hardy many practical hints. They returned to the mansion and had such a lunch as Hardy had been able to arrange, which delighted Froken Mathilde Jensen from its incompleteness.

"The fact is, Herr Hardy," she said, "you want a wife. You have no idea how to manage anything. We have none of us a napkin, and everything is served abominably."

"I hope to induce my mother to come here next summer," said Hardy; but he knew Mrs. Hardy of Hardy Place would scarcely adapt herself to the situation Froken Mathilde suggested.

"No doubt your mother will do everything," said Froken Mathilde, "but a wife is the one thing needful."

"Possibly," said Hardy. "I will consult my mother on the subject."

"I do not like, Mathilde," said Fru Jensen, "your saying such things to Herr Hardy. It is not what I should have said when I was your age."

"That may be, little mother," replied Froken Mathilde; "but Englishmen are very dull, and you had none to talk to."

As they rode back to the Jensens' Herregaard, the two girls wanted to race the horses back, to Herr Jensen's and his wife's great alarm.

Hardy told them their parents did not wish it, and that, as they did not, he did not; and he, instead of riding with them, rode by the side of the proprietor's carriage. And when they arrived at the Herregaard, the girls dismounted, and Froken Mathilde said, with much emphasis—

"Herr Hardy, we thank you for your kindness to us, but we both vote that you are frightfully dull and a bore; but we like you very much."

The hospitable proprietor would not hear of Hardy's leaving; a glass of schnaps was inevitable and a smoke, and Rosendal was discussed again and again, and its advantages and defects considered from every point of view.

At last, Hardy left, and rode to Vandstrup Praestegaard, in time for a later dinner than usual Hardy told the Pastor of the practical advice Proprietor Jensen had given him, and the Pastor commented on it and approved.

Froken Helga asked if the Fru Jensen had given him any advice.

"Yes," said Hardy, "and very good advice, about the management of the people and dairy." But, he added, the Froken Jensens had decidedly advised him to marry, so as to have some one to manage these details for him; but he had replied that he must consult his mother on such a subject.

"And which you intend to do, Herr Hardy?" asked Helga.

"Certainly," said Hardy.



CHAPTER XIV.

"Good God, how sweet are all things here! How beautiful the fields appear! How cleanly do we feed and lie! Lord, what good hours do we keep; How quietly we sleep! What peace! what unanimity! How different from the lewd fashion Is all our business, all our recreation!" The Complete Angler.

Froken Helga had filled the porcelain pipe with Kanaster one evening, when she said to her father that he should relate to Herr Hardy what he knew of Folketro.

"What is Folketro?" asked Hardy.

"It is the belief in supernatural subjects; for instance, the belief in the merman is a Folketro."

"I know the beautiful old ballad that is sung in Norway of the merman king rising from the sea in a jewelled dress, where the king's daughter had come to fish with a line of silk. He sings to her, and, charmed with his song, she gives him both her hands, and he draws her under the sea."

"Yes, we all know that ballad," said the Pastor; "it is known to all Scandinavians. We have, however, in Jutland, a tradition founded upon it. Two poor people who lived near Aarhus had an only daughter, called Grethe. One day she was sent to the seashore to fetch sand, when a Havmand (merman) rose up out in the sea. His beard was greener than the salt sea, but otherwise his form was fair, and he enticed the girl to follow him into the sea, by the promise of as much silver as she could wish for. She went to the bottom of the sea, and was married to the Havmand ('Hav' is a Danish word for the sea), and had five children. One day she sat rocking the cradle of her youngest child, when she heard the church bells ring ashore. She had almost forgotten what she had learnt of Christian faith, but the longing was so great to go to church that she wept bitterly. The merman at length allowed her to go, and she went to church. She had not been there long before the merman came to the church and called 'Grethe! Grethe!' She heard him call, but remained; this occurred three times, when the merman was heard loudly lamenting, as he returned to the sea. Grethe remained with her parents, and the merman is often heard bitterly grieving the loss of Grethe."

"The same tradition occurs in many lands," said Hardy.

"Yes, but that is the one we have here in Jutland," replied Pastor Lindal. "There is a story that comes from the neighbourhood of Ringkiobing, which may have a similarity with traditions elsewhere also; but the Jutland story is as follows: For a long time no ship had been wrecked on the west coast of Jutland, and consequently the Havmand had been a long time without a victim. So he went on land and threw a hook at the cattle on the sand hills, whither they frequently wandered from the farms, and dragged them into the sea. Close to the sea lived a Bonde, who had two red yearlings, which he did not wish to lose; so he coupled them together with twigs of the mountain ash, over which the Havmand had no power. However, he threw his hook at them, but could not drag the yearlings down to the sea, as they were protected by the virtue in the mountain ash. His hook stuck in its twigs, and the yearlings came home with it, and the Bonde hung it up in his house by the chimney. One day, when his wife was at home alone, the Havmand came and took away the hook, and said, 'The first calves of red cows, with a mountain ash couple, the Havmand could not drag to the sea, and for want of my hook I have missed many a good catch.' So the Havmand returned to the sea, and since then has never taken any cattle from that part of the coast."

"It is very possible that the cattle were stolen by people landing from the sea," said Hardy.

"Probably," said the Pastor. "There is another story of a Havmand's body being washed up by the sea, close to the church, and it was buried in the churchyard. But the sea every year washed away so much of the sandy coast that the people were afraid the church would be washed away; so they dug up the Havmand, and found him sitting at the bottom of the grave, sucking one of his toes. They carried him down to the sea, for which he thanked them, and said that now the sea should ever cast up as much sand as it washed away, and both the church and churchyard should never suffer from the encroachments of the sea."

"A story with more apparent improbability than usual. But the impression appears to exist that these supernatural beings could never really die. Is it not so?" inquired Hardy.

"It would appear so," replied the Pastor; "but in the case of Trolds or Underjordiske, their deaths are occasionally referred to in the traditions about them."

"But are there no legends of mermaids?" said Hardy.

"Many," replied the Pastor. "The Danish word is 'Havfru,' or sea-woman. On the Jutland coast a mermaid or Havfru was accustomed to drive her cattle up from the sea, so that they could graze in the fields ashore. This the Bonder did not like. They, therefore, one night, surrounded the cattle, and secured both them and the Havfru in an enclosure, and refused to let them go until they had been paid for the grass the sea cattle had consumed from their fields. As she had no money, they demanded that she should give them the belt that she wore round her waist, which appeared to be covered with precious stones. To ransom herself and cattle, she at length consented, and the Bonder received the belt; but as she went to the sea-shore she said to the biggest bull of her herd, 'Root up,' and the bull rooted the earth up that was over the sand in their meadows, and the consequence was the wind blew the sand so that it buried the church. The Bonder, therefore, had small joy of the belt, particularly when they found it was only common rushes."

"There is a ballad," said Hardy, "that I met with in Norway of Count Magnus and the Havfru. She promised him a sword, a horse, and a ship of miraculous powers; but he was true to his earthly love."

"The people often sing it here," said the Pastor, "and a good ballad it is. It is, however, well known in England. There was a common belief that there were cattle in the sea, and it is related that a man once saw a red cow constantly in the evening feeding on his standing corn. He asked his neighbours' assistance, and they secured it. It had five calves whilst in the man's possession, and each of them cow calves; but they gave him so much trouble from their unruly nature that he beat them frequently. One day he did so by the seaside, when a voice from the sea called the cattle, who all rushed into the sea.

"There is a very common story of a fisherman, on the west coast of Jutland, seeing a Havmand riding on a billow of the sea, but shivering with the cold, as he had only one stocking on. The fisherman took off one of his stockings and gave it to the Havmand. Some time after, he was on the sea fishing, when the Havmand appeared, and sang—

'Hor du Mand som Hosen gav. Tag dit Skib og drag til Land, Det dundrer under Norge.'

'Listen, you man, who gave the stocking. Take your ship and make for land, It thunders under Norway.'

The fisherman obeyed, and a great storm ensued, and many people perished at sea."

"It is common to observe that where the natural disposition of the people is a kindly one, there exists in their legends instances of a similar character, where a kindness is recollected and rewarded," said Hardy.

"It occurs often," said Pastor Lindal, "in the legends of the Underjordiske."

"Hans Christian Andersen has a story about the elder tree, but it is not very clear what position the fairy of the elder tree bears in tradition," said Hardy.

"There is supposed to exist in the elder tree a supernatural being, a gnome or fairy, called the Hyldemoer, or fairy of the elder tree," replied the Pastor. "She is said to revenge all injury to the tree; and of a man who cut an elder bush down, it is related that he died shortly after. At dusk, the Hyldemoer peeps in through the window at the children, when they are alone. It is also said that she sucks their breasts at night, and that this can be only averted by the juice of an onion."

"Is there any distinct legend of the Hyldemoer?" asked Hardy.

"Not that I know of," replied the Pastor. "There is a saying that a child cannot sleep if its cradle is made of elder tree, but there is no story with any incidents, that I am aware of. A cradle of elder tree is not likely to be often made."

"The legend of the were-wolf is very general in all Europe," said Hardy. "Does the tradition exist with you?"

"It is called the Varulv with us," replied the Pastor. "It is said to be a man, who changes into the form of a wolf, and is known by a tuft of hair between the shoulders. When he wishes to change himself from the human form to a wolf, he repeats three times, 'I was, I am,' and immediately his clothes fall off, like a snake changing its skin. It is said that if a woman creeps under the caul of a foal, extended on four sticks, that her children will be born without the usual pains of childbirth, but that the boys will be Varulve, and the daughters Marer, or mares. The superstition about the latter, I will tell you presently. The man, however, is freed by some other person telling him he is a Varulv. In the other traditions on the subject elsewhere, the Varulv is supposed to attack women near their confinement; and it is related that a man, who was a Varulv, was at work in the fields with his wife, when suddenly a wolf appeared, and attacked her. She struck at it with her apron, which the wolf tore to pieces. Then the man reappeared, with a torn piece of the apron in his mouth. 'You are a Varulv,' said the woman; and the man said, 'I was, but now you have told me so I am free.' This is the Jutland legend of the were-wolf."

"What is that of the Marer, or mares?" asked Hardy.

"Marer is the plural of Mare," replied the Pastor. "It is a woman, who, like the Varulv, changes to the form of a mare. It is the nightmare, which, as we all know, is dreadful enough. A woman who is a Mare (the final e is pronounced as a) is known by the hair growing together on her eyebrows. It is a very old superstition. It occurs in Snorro's 'Heimskringla,' where King Vauland complains of a Mare having ridden him in his sleep. There are several stories based on the superstition. A Bondekarl—that is, a farm servant—was ridden every night by a Mare, although he had stopped up every hole to prevent her; but at last he discovered that she came through a hole in an oak post, which he stopped with a wooden pin, as soon as he knew she was in the room. As the day dawned, she assumed her human form, having no power otherwise. The man married her, and they lived together very happily. One day, the man asked his wife if she knew how she came into the house, and showed her the little wooden pin, which yet stood in the oak post. His wife peeped through the hole, and as she stood and looked, she suddenly became so small that she could go through the hole. She disappeared and never returned. There is also a story of a certain Queen of Denmark, who was very fond of horses, but she liked one horse far beyond the others. The groom observed that this horse was always tired in the morning, with the appearance of its having been ridden all night. He at length suspected that it was ridden by a Mare. He, therefore, one night took a bucket of water and threw it over the horse, when, lo! the queen sat on the horse's back."

"The superstition is evidently an ancient one," said Hardy. "There is no doubt that people had the nightmare very badly in old times, from their habits of life and sudden and violent changes taking place in their circumstances."

"There is a method of catching a Mare," said the Pastor; "and that is by putting a sieve over her when she is acting a nightmare. It is said she can then be caught, as she cannot come out until she has counted all the holes in the sieve."

"There are difficulties enough attending that," said Hardy. "But surely this must exhaust all the subjects you call Folketro?"

"By no means," said the Pastor. "We have a very dangerous coast on the west of Jutland, and I have heard sailors say of our sandy coast that they prefer rocks to sands to be wrecked on. There has consequently arisen a superstition as to omens, and these are called Strandvarsler, or omens from the sea-shore or strand. Varsel is an omen, Varsler is the plural of the word. In old times it was said to be dangerous to go on the roads or paths near the coast, as the Strandvarsler were often met. They were ghosts of people who had been drowned and still lay unburied in the sea. It is related that one evening a Strandvarsel jumped on a Bonders back and shouted, 'Carry me to church!' The Bonde had to obey, and went the nearest way to the church. When he came close to the churchyard wall, the Strandvarsel jumped over it; but the Kirkegrim, of whom I will speak directly, seized the Strandvarsel, and immediately a combat took place between them. When they had fought a while, they both rested to take breath. The Strandvarsel asked the Bonde, 'Did I hit him?' 'No,' said the Bonde. So they fought again, and again they rested, and the Strandvarsel put the same question. 'No,' said the Bonde. They fought again, and they rested, and the same question was put by the Strandvarsel. 'Yes,' said the Bonde. 'It was lucky for you that you said "Yes,"' said the Strandvarsel, 'or I would have broken your neck.' The legend goes no farther. There is, however, another story, but of the same character in its bearing. A Bondekone—that is, a farmer's wife—went out to milk her cows. She saw that a corpse had been washed up by the sea, and there was a purse of money on its waist. As there was no one near, she took the money, which she thought she could have as much need of as any one else. But the next night the Strandvarsel came and made so much noise outside her window that she came out, and he said she must help him. There was nothing to do but to obey, she thought; so she said farewell to her children, as she expected death, and went out to the Strandvarsel. When she came out, he told her to take him by his leg and drag him to the nearest churchyard, which was three English miles distant. When they came to the churchyard, the Strandvarsel said, 'Let me go, or the Kirkegrim will seize you.' This she did; but as soon as the Strandvarsel was in the churchyard, the Kirkegrim rushed at the Bondekone, and seized her by her skirt; as this was old, it gave way, and she escaped. But she had a good time of it after, with the money she had taken from the corpse by the sea-shore."

"These legends are fresh and interesting," said Hardy; "thank you very much. But is there no story where an omen had effect?"

"There are several," replied the Pastor, "and the people on the west coast have the reputation of having what is called a clear sight of the future in this respect. There was a man who stated that a ship would be wrecked at Torsminde, which would be laden with such heavy timber that it would take four men to carry each of the pieces of timber. He said he had the warning from a Strandvarsel. A year passed, when a ship was wrecked, with such heavy railway iron that it took four men to carry each rail. It was certainly a mistake for the omen to say it would be timber when it was iron; but as it was correct about four men having to carry each piece of railway iron, and the ship did wreck at Torsminde, it was considered a true warning or omen."

"But that brings the superstition down to quite recent time," said Hardy.

"I have already told you that these superstitions yet live in the hearts of the people; they do not confess them openly, but they do exist here and there."

"What is the superstition about the Kirkegrim?" asked Hardy.

"The Kirkegrim," replied the Pastor, "is a spirit or gnome that inhabits the church, and revenges any injury to it or the churchyard. That is all; there are no stories about it, beyond what I have related, that I know of."

"It is, in fact, a spiritual churchwarden," said Hardy, "after our English notions. It is to be regretted we have not them in England."

"I think, little father, you have talked a long time, and you are tired," said Froken Helga.

"You are right, Froken," said Hardy. "Thank you, Herr Pastor, for a series of interesting legends. I can only say how sorry I am that I must go to England shortly. My mother wishes to have me at home, as she is lonely without me, and I cannot bear she should be so any longer."

"And when, Herr Hardy, do you propose to leave?" inquired Helga.

"In about a week, Froken," replied Hardy, to whom he thought it appeared a matter of indifference whether he went or stayed.

"My father will miss you much, and so shall we all," said Helga. "You have been good and kind, and there has nothing happened about you that we have not liked."

Hardy looked at her. It was clear that, as usual, she said nothing but what she meant.

"If you come here again, you will go to Rosendal?" said the Pastor.

"Yes," replied Hardy. "My intention is to go to Rosendal in May, next year, and I hope to bring my mother with me; but, meanwhile, I have told the bailiff that the place is at your disposition, and Karl and Axel can catch all the fish in the lake they can; and as it is my intention to clear the lake of pike and put in trout instead, I hope they will use their best endeavours. My rods and tackle I will leave to assist them."

"You are so good to us, Herr Hardy!" said Karl.

"Yes; but I am afraid I have a proposition to make with regard to you, Karl, which may interrupt the fishing."

"And what is that?" asked the Pastor.

"Your present view with regard to Karl is that he should go to Copenhagen and be a legal student. Now, my proposition is that he returns with me to England, that he resides at Hardy Place and learns English, during the winter. I will get a tutor in the English curate with the English rector of my parish. I will, meanwhile, inquire if I can find him a place in an English house of business in London, and, if I can, it will be a better future for him than that of a legal student in Copenhagen. At any rate, the experiment can be tried; and there is another reason—it will cost you, Herr Pastor, nothing."

"It is kind," said the Pastor. "I will think of it, and I thank you, Hardy."

"I have much to thank you for, Herr Pastor. I have learnt much here," said Hardy, "and as you will take nothing from me for the cost I have put you to during my stay here, it will give me the opportunity of repaying in part my debts to you."

The Pastor rose up and extended his hand to Hardy, and said, "I cannot say how much I thank you. I accept it, Hardy."

His daughter had knitted as usual, but her head was bent over her work.

"Helga," said the Pastor, "why do you not speak?"

"Because, father," said Helga, "Herr Hardy is so good I do not know what to say. He is better than other men."

When Hardy said "Good night" to her, before he went to his room, she said, "Good night, sir!" in English, but would not take the hand Hardy held out to her.



CHAPTER XV.

"Piscator.—But come, sir, I see you have dined, and therefore, if you please, we will walk down again to the little house, and I will read you a lecture on angling." —The Complete Angler.

Froken Helga and Kirstin the next day were much occupied in preparing Karl's outfit; old stockings had to have new feet, cloth had to be bought and the tailor sent for, as well as a Syjomfru, or seamstress, to assist about his shirts. An inquiry, however, directed to Hardy on the subject, put a stop to all the bustle.

"How many stockings of a thick kind had Karl better take?" asked Helga. "We are preparing his outfit, and there is but a short time to get his clothes and shirts made."

'"The less he takes the better," replied Hardy. "It is better he should get his clothes in England. He will then appear like lads of the same age do in England in dress. It is very galling to a lad not to be dressed as other boys. English boys are apt to tease on the subject of anything foreign in dress and manner. I know it is not good conduct to do so, but it is done. If, therefore, you will let me order his things in England, it will be best, and save you much trouble now."

"But my father would find it difficult to pay for the expensive English things," retorted Helga.

"No, he will not; that I will care for," said Hardy, using a familiar Danish phrase.

"Then I must mention it to my father," said Helga.

"Certainly," said Hardy; "but tell him that as I have undertaken to make an effort on Karl's behalf to assist him to an independent position, it will be less difficult for me to do so if he is well dressed."

"You despise everything Danish, Herr Hardy, even a boy's clothes," said Helga, as she was leaving the room.

"Stop," said Hardy; "I want to ask you one question. Do you not yourself think, Froken Helga, that what I propose is best for Karl?"

"Yes," said Helga, almost involuntarily.

"Then why should you suggest to me that I despise everything Danish?" asked Hardy. "No country has interested me more."

Helga looked at him, as if begging him to say no more, and went to her father's study. She told him what Hardy had said. "I think it is so noble of him, little father, to be so considerate; he seems to think beforehand of everything."

"Yes," said Pastor Lindal, "I have learnt to know that if he does anything, he is sure to find out the kindest way to do it. I will go at once and thank him."

"And I told him, little father, that he despised everything Danish, even to a boy's clothes," said Helga, between whom and her father existed a perfect trust in one another; "and he looked hurt, and I feel so sorry, little father."

"You treat him as if you disliked him, Helga, but if you do he has certainly given no cause, and he is entitled to common civility. I think what you told me you said to him at the horse-race was irritating and wrong."

"I feel it was, little father, but I do my utmost to try not to like him or any one. Kirstin has told him that my duty is to you and Karl and Axel, and that I could never marry. I know it is my duty to live for you, little father, and that you could not get on without me."

"You have a duty to yourself, Helga," said her father, gravely, as he saw that his daughter liked Hardy, and that her conduct towards him had only been an effort to do what she thought her duty in life. He saw also that in a short time Hardy would see it too. "There is no man I like so much," added he; "but I do not wish to lead you to like any one, yet there is no good in struggling against what is natural and necessary. Now, Helga, answer me this—has he said anything to you?"

"No, no; not a word!" replied Helga, quickly.

"I was sure of it," said her father, "and he will not; he is under my roof, and he will say nothing to me or you—he has too much delicacy of feeling to do so."

"But, little father, he looks on me as an inferior," said Helga. "He is so superior in everything, that I feel as if he said, 'You are a simple country girl.'"

"Well," said her father, "what are you else? But I am sure he never said or, by his manner, led you to infer that he thought you his inferior."

"It is not that," said Helga. "If he but opens the door and enters a room or leaves it, he does so in a manner I cannot describe. He is not like other men. He does everything well and knows everything well. He makes me feel I am so small."

"When he is with me," said the Pastor, "he makes me feel the better Christian and more kindly towards every one. When he first came he taught me one sentence I shall never forget, 'that kindliness is the real gold of life.'"

"But you said that on the first Sunday he was here, little father, in your sermon," interrupted Helga.

"But I learnt it from him," said the Pastor. "But there is something I think I had better tell you, as there should be perfect confidence, even in thought, between us, my child. When Karl came from the Jensens' the other day, he repeated what Mathilde Jensen said about Hardy buying Rosendal. I think myself it is probable—mind, I only say probable. I see he observes everything you do, and that your unfair speeches hurt him. He asked me if you were, as Fru Jensen said, attached to Kapellan Holm, and his manner for the moment changed. He is going to bring his mother over to Denmark, and, judging from his character of simple kindly consideration for every one, it is clear he wishes his mother to see you before he speaks."

"Oh, little father, it cannot be true," said Helga; "it cannot be true!"

"No, it is not true; but it is, as I said, probable," replied her father. "But there is one thing I should like to tell him myself, if you dislike what I have said, and that is, if he should entertain anything of the sort, that you have no wish in that direction. I do not think it right to let him nurse the probability in his mind that you might listen to him when he comes with his mother next year, when it would be painful to her to see her only son get a Kurv" (literally, a basket; the meaning is a rejection). "I think we should save them this, as it would be a heavy blow to both son and mother."

"But Kirstin has told him I cannot marry, little father," said Helga, "and he believes it."

"Herr Hardy will not care what an old woman says," replied her father; "but there is no need to say anything whatever, and nothing must be said unless you feel you could never listen to him."

"I do not know what to say, little father," said Helga, with a bright gleam of coming happiness in her eyes.

"Then we will say nothing, and let things take their course," said Pastor Lindal. "It is best so. You do not know your own mind yet, and it is possible it is the same with Hardy; only do not build too much on this, Helga. And now kiss your little father, and I will go and thank Hardy for his goodness about Karl."

John Hardy was writing a letter to his mother.

"We shall be home in ten days from the date of this letter, dearest mother, and this letter will be three days reaching you. The route we shall take is by the cattle steamer from Esbjerg to Harwich, from which latter place I will telegraph. I shall bring the two Danish horses I have bought for your own use, and as Garth has had them in training some time they will be ready for you to use at once.

"I shall bring a son of Pastor Lindal's with me; his age is, as I have told you in a former letter, about sixteen. His father has been good to me, and would receive no payment for my stay with him; but I have left the money to be distributed in his parish as he should direct. My view is to let Karl Lindal stay at Hardy Place this autumn and winter, but in the spring to get him a situation with a foreign broker in London. His knowledge of English is only from what I have taught him, and it is necessary that he should learn more to fit him for an office in England. He is also a raw country lad, and a stay at Hardy Place will work a change, and prepare him for a wider sphere than a retired Danish parsonage.

"I am expecting the gardener you have sent over to survey Rosendal and plan some improvement in the grounds. He has been two days at Rosendal, and, I fear, has had the usual difficulty of language. Garth, however, has been with him, to assist his measuring. Pastor Lindal and his daughter are in a state of alarm at what I am going to do there. They fear I shall destroy the natural beauty of the place. I shall soon be home now, and am longing to see your dear kind face again."

The tobacco parliament, as Hardy always called it, had scarcely began, when Kirstin announced that there was an Englishman at the door.

"It is the Scotchman, Macdonald, the gardener, my mother has sent over to see Rosendal," said Hardy. "May he come in and show you his plans?"

"We should like to see them beyond everything," said Froken Helga, eagerly.

"The difficulty about the place is that the farmyard is at the house," said Macdonald. Hardy interpreted.

"We cannot interfere with that now, Macdonald. We must make the best of it as it is," said Hardy.

"Just what I expected," said Macdonald, unfolding his plans. "There is the plan of Rosendal as it now is—that is, the house, woods, lake, and gardens; you must look it all over first, and see if you know the place, and then you'll be prepared for the next plan. You see, Mr. Hardy, there is practically little room for alteration. The little low whitewashed wall round the house can come down, the kitchen garden made into a shrubbery with walks; the turf is so coarse that you cannot make anything of it. The kitchen garden can be placed at the back. The valley of roses can be made into a pretty place, and I should advise the Pinus Montana being planted, to contrast with its dark green the roses when in bloom; it will shelter them also. The little wall being down, the ground can be sloped and planted, as shown in plan. For the valley of roses I have prepared a large plan."

Hardy interrupted, but seeing the Pastor about to speak, said—

"No, Herr Pastor; we must have Froken Helga's opinion first. She it is that has so blamed the obstinacy of my conduct in thinking that Rosendal can be improved. Let her speak; but, first, Macdonald has more to say."

Macdonald suggested several other changes, which, although small in themselves, yet in the aggregate made considerable alteration.

"Well, Froken Helga?" said Hardy, after she had seen the plans.

"I think it will make Rosendal perfectly lovely," said Helga, warmly. "I should not have thought it possible so few simple changes could effect so much."

"The cost," said the Pastor, "cannot be much either. I heartily approve of the plans."

"We will come over and see you at Rosendal to-morrow, Macdonald, and go through the plans on the spot," said Hardy. And after Macdonald had experienced the hospitality of the Pastor, he left.

"He is a clever man," said the Pastor, referring to Macdonald.

"He is a good man," said Hardy; "but he has been educated to such work, and consequently he sees things that did not even strike the quick intelligence of Froken Helga Lindal."

"I have been very foolish and——" said Helga, but stopped and blushed.

"Not at all," said Hardy. "You had liked Rosendal as it is. It was very natural that you should have thought any change would be for the worse."

"Thank you, Herr Hardy," said Helga; but her voice had a softer tone. "I wish," she added, after a pause, "you would sing to us the German song you sang once to my father."

Hardy rose at once and did so. He looked round to ask if he should sing another song, when he saw Helga looking at him as a woman sometimes looks at the man to whom she has given her heart. Her back was turned to her father and brothers. Hardy sang the popular "Folkevise," beginning—

"Det var en Lordag aften Jeg sad og vented dig Du loved mig at komme vist Men kom dog ej til mig."

This song of the people possesses a rare plaintiveness, and describes how a peasant girl had expected her lover, but he came not, and her grief at seeing him with a rival. The ballad is touching to a degree, and the verse—

"Hvor kan man plukker Roser Hvor ingen Roser groer? Hvor kan man finde Kjaerlighed Hvor Kjaerlighed ej boer?"

"Where can one pluck roses Where no roses grow? Where can one find affection Where no affection lives?"

is exquisitely tender. Helga had heard the song often, and sang it herself, but it had never seemed to possess such a depth of feeling.

Hardy got up from the piano, and saw that Helga's eyes were tearful.

"I thank you, Hardy," said the Pastor. "No man can sing like that unless his heart is true."

"I am sure of it, father," said Helga. "I never heard anything so beautiful in my life!"

"But, Hardy, you are going away; and how will you take the piano?" asked Pastor Lindal.

"If you would allow it to remain with you, Herr Pastor, during the autumn and winter, I should be much indebted to you," said Hardy. "But if Froken Helga would accept it as a recollection of a cool and calculating Englishman, I will give it her with pleasure."

Before the Pastor could reply, his daughter had.

"I will accept it gratefully;" and she rose up and, after the Danish manner, gave her hand to Hardy, and said, using a Danish expression, "a thousand thanks."

"Thank you, Hardy, very much," said the Pastor. "You have done us many kindnesses; but after visiting the poor and the sick in my parish, the knowledge that I shall hear my daughter's voice, that is so like my wife's, singing in the winter evenings, will be a comfort to me."

The next day they went to Rosendal, and met Macdonald with his plans. The being on the spot and understanding what was proposed to be done was a different thing to seeing the plans at the parsonage. The reality struck Helga. She was much interested, and Hardy saw that she understood and entered into everything. There was nothing to suggest or to alter in Macdonald's plans, and Hardy at once arranged for their execution. The Danish bailiff was at first obstructive, but Hardy's quiet, decisive manner changed the position, and gradually it dawned upon him that the place would be greatly improved, and that the residence of an English family for part of the year at Rosendal would not prejudice him.

Karl and Axel had been on the lake trolling, but they had caught nothing, and came back disappointed to the mansion, and begged Hardy to fish, if but to catch one pike.

Hardy said he could not leave the Pastor and his daughter while he went fishing with them.

"We must have a pike for dinner," said the Pastor, "and as the boys cannot catch one, you must, Hardy."

"May I go in the boat?" asked Helga. "I have never seen Herr Hardy fish."

"Oh, pike-fishing is nothing," said Karl "It is trout-fishing with a fly that Herr Hardy does so well."

Hardy got into the boat, and put his gear in order, which had been disarranged by the boys' efforts to fish. A man accustomed to the lake rowed it, and Helga stepped into it. She remarked it was wet and dirty.

"That is the boys' doing," said Hardy, as he pulled off his coat for her to sit on.

They rowed on the lake, and Hardy cast his trolling-bait with the long accurate cast habitual to him, and caught four pike, and then directed the boat to be rowed ashore.

As Froken Helga stepped ashore, where her father and brothers were waiting for her, she said, "I can understand the boys' enthusiasm for Herr Hardy; when Lars (the boatman) pointed out a place where a pike might be, although yards away, the bait was dropped in it and the pike caught. I wish Herr Hardy would let me see him catch fish on the Gudenaa with flies."

"We can do that to-morrow evening," said Hardy, "as you cannot get up at three in the morning, as we are accustomed to do."

"I cannot let little father miss his evening talk with you, Herr Hardy, and to get up at three in the morning these summer days is no hardship to me. May I go to-morrow?" asked Helga.

"Certainly, if you wish it," said Hardy.

As they returned home, Karl expressed no wish to ride Buffalo, and Garth rode it, and Hardy drove his Danish horses.

"I should like to see how you drive; may I come up and sit beside you?" said Helga.

After they had gone a little way, Hardy said to her, "Take the reins and drive. I have bought these horses for my mother, and she will drive them herself, and you can drive them. Draw the reins gently to the horses' mouths and let them go as you wish them. To slacken speed, draw the reins firmly but gently, and they will obey."

Helga drove the carriage to the parsonage.

"Little father," said Helga, "I have driven you all the way from the entrance gate at Rosendal."

"I am glad," said the Pastor, "you did not tell me that before, as I should have been in great anxiety."

"But Herr Hardy was sitting by me, little father," said Helga, "and there was no danger when he is near."



CHAPTER XVI.

"The trout and salmon being in season have, at their first taking out of the water, their bodies adorned with such red spots, and the other with such black spots, as give them such an addition of natural beauty as I think was never given to any woman by artificial paint or patches." —The Complete Angler.

John Hardy had tied a couple of casting lines with the flies he usually fished with on the Gudenaa, and came down a little before three the next day.

Karl and Axel yet slept, but their sister called them, and after the accustomed cup of coffee and rusks they went out to fish on the Gudenaa. Of late Hardy had hired a flat-bottomed boat, and a man called Nils Nilsen rowed or punted it with a pole, as on the Thames, or he went ashore on the towing-path and pulled it up the river with a towing rope, while a minnow was cast from the boat.

Hardy had taken a travelling rug for Helga to sit on, and Nils Nilsen towed the boat up the river, while Hardy fished with a minnow and caught a few trout. When they reached the shallows, which Hardy usually fished with a fly, he sent the boys on land to cast from the bank, and Nils Nilsen took the pole to punt the boat slowly down the stream. The trout rose freely for about an hour, and Helga had charge of the landing-net, and lost for Hardy several good fish, to Nils Nilsen's great disgust. She saw the long casts Hardy made, the light fall of the fly on the water, while a slight motion of the line threw the flies repeatedly on the surface of the river like real flies, and as soon as a trout rose the line was tightened with a sudden motion, and the trout drawn gradually to within reach of the landing-net.

"May I try, Herr Hardy, to throw the line for the Fish?" asked Helga.

"Certainly," replied Hardy, and he shortened the line to allow her to do so.

Her first attempt was to hook Hardy's cap; her next was to hook Nils Nilsen by the ear.

"It seems so easy to do," said Helga, as she handed Hardy the rod, who showed her how to cast the line as well as he was able.

"You will fish better from the bank, where it is not necessary to cast such a long line," said Hardy. "We will try a little lower down."

Helga followed his instructions, and at length hooked a trout, which Hardy picked out with the landing-net.

"I do so like this sort of fishing," said Helga; "it is the way a lady should fish, if she fished at all."

"Many English ladies are good fly fishers," said Hardy; "and I have seen them catch salmon in Norway. I will, with pleasure, leave my rods and tackle here, if you would like to fish with Axel; he can show you how to attach the flies to the line, and anything else necessary."

"Thank you so much!" replied Helga; and as she raised her eyes to his, with her handsome face lit up by exercise, Hardy saw how beautiful she was. Her manner towards him had changed. She talked freely to him now, and without reserve.

"We will put a mark on the trout you have caught," said Hardy, "that we may know it again after it has been in the frying-pan. The Herr Pastor does not often eat fish of his daughter's catching. It weighs just half an English pound."

"How can you tell?" asked Helga.

"I guess it to be so; but we will soon see," replied Hardy, as he took a little spring balance out of his pocket, and held it up to her with the trout on it. "That little line is the half-pound, and the fish pulls the spring to that line."

"What a pretty thing to weigh with! Is it silver?" asked Helga.

"Yes, it is silver," replied Hardy. "I will leave it with you, with the rest of the fishing gear, on the condition that the first time you catch a trout weighing one pound you write and tell me all about it."

"Yes, that I will!" said Helga. "I write my father's letters, and shall have to write to you for him about Rosendal."

At breakfast, Helga described to her father all the little incidents of the morning, and her bright fresh look testified to the benefit of early morning exercise.

"I think, Helga," said the Pastor, "that when Karl is gone, you had better go fishing in the morning with Axel; you look the better for it."

When the tobacco parliament was opened that evening, and the Pastor had finished puffing like a small steam launch to get his porcelain pipe well lit. Hardy asked him if there was anything in the superstitions of Jutland, corresponding to those of the sea, about the rivers.

"Yes," replied the Pastor. "Our Danish word for river is 'Aa' (pronounced like a broad o). Thus, the Gudenaa is the Guden river. The tradition is that each river has its Aamand or river man, who every year craves a life; if a year passes without a victim, he can be heard at night saying, 'The time and hour are come, but the victim is not yet come.' Sometimes the Aamand is called Nokken."

"That is the Norsk name," said Hardy. "In Scotland they have a superstition as to changelings; that is, a human child is stolen and a child of the Trolds substituted. This is referred to by Sir Walter Scott in one of his poems. Does anything of the sort exist in your Jutland traditions?"

"There are several varied stories," replied Pastor Lindal. "One is of a couple who had a very pretty child; they lived near a wood called Rold Wood. The Trolds came one night and stole the child, leaving one of their own in its place. The man and his wife did not at first notice any change, but the wife gradually became suspicious, and she asked the advice of a wise woman, who told her to brew in a nutshell, with an eggshell as beer barrel, in the changeling's presence, who exclaimed that it had lived so many years as to have seen Rold Wood hewn down and grow up three times, but had never seen any one brew in a nutshell before. 'If you are as old as that,' said the wife, 'you can go elsewhere;' and she took the broom-stick and beat the changeling until it ran away, and as it ran he caught his feet in his hands and rolled away over hill and dale so long as they could see it. This story has a variation that they made a sausage with the skin, bones, and bristles of a pig, and gave the changeling, who made the same exclamation, with the result as I have before related. There is also another variation, where the changeling is got rid of by heating the oven red hot and putting it into the oven, when the Trold mother appears and snatches it out, and disappears with her child."

"The superstition would appear to have arisen from children being affected with diseases which were not understood," said Hardy.

"We can only speculate," said the Pastor, "in these subjects; the origin is lost in the mists of time. There is one story of a changeling that has some graphic incidents. When a child is born, a light is always kept burning in the mother's room until the child is baptized, as the Trolds may come and steal it. This was not done at a place in North Jutland, because the mother could not sleep with the light burning. The father therefore determined to hold the child in his arms, so long as it was dark in the room, but he fell asleep; shortly after he was aroused, and he saw a tall woman standing by the bed, and found that he had two children in his arms. The woman vanished, but the children remained, and he did not know which was his own. He consulted a wise woman, who advised him to get an unbroken horse colt, who would indicate the changeling. Both children were placed on the ground, and the colt smelt at them; one he licked, but the other he kicked at. It was therefore plain which was the changeling. The Trold mother came running up, snatched the child away, and disappeared."

"The advice of the wise woman was clever. It is, as you say, a graphic story," said Hardy. "But who were the wise women?"

"There were both men and women. They were called Kloge Maend and Kloge Koner, or wise men and wise wives. They pretended to heal diseases, to find things lost or stolen, and the like. They were often called white witches, as in England. There was a man called Kristen, who pretended to have wonderful powers. A certain Bonde did not believe in him, and one day told him that he had a sow possessed with a devil. The sow was simply vicious. Kristen at once offered to drive the devil out of the sow. He instructed the Bonde and his men not to open the door of the stable in which the pig was, even if they saw him (Kristen) come and knock and shout, as the devil would take upon him his appearance, to enable him to escape better. Kristen went into the stable and began to exorcise. The sow, however, rushed at him and chased him round the stable, and every time Kristen passed the door, he shouted to the Bonde and his men to open it, but they, pretending to follow his instructions, would not. At last, when Kristen was nearly dead with fatigue, they opened the door. Of course, Kristen never heard the last of that sow."

"That is not a bad story," said Hardy.

"You have read Holberg's comedies?" said the Pastor. "In one of them you will recollect a thief is discovered from amongst the other domestics of the house, by their being ranged behind the man who had been asked to discover the thief, and who tells them all to hold their hands up. He asks if they are all holding their hands up, as his back is towards them. They all reply, 'Yes;' and the man then asks if the person who has stolen the silver cup is holding up his hand. The thief replied 'Yes,' thus discovering himself. There is a story of a watch being stolen in a large household in Jutland. The white witch was sent for, and he discovered the thief by ranging the domestics round a table and making each domestic put a finger on the table, over which he held a sharp axe. He asked each if they had stolen the watch, as the axe would fall and cut off the finger of the one who had. He detected the thief by his at once removing his finger."

"Verily a wise man," said Hardy. "In Norway I used to meet with the word 'Dvaerg,' as applied to supernatural beings.

"Dvaerg is dwarf in Danish," replied the Pastor; "but there are many stories of them, and in a superstitious sense. Dvaerg are analogous to Underjordiske, or underground people. The tradition of their origin is, that Eve was one day washing her children at a spring, when God suddenly called her, at which she was frightened, and hid two of the children that were yet unwashed, as she did not wish Him to see them when dirty. God said, 'Are all your children here?' and she replied, 'Yes.' God said, 'What is hidden from Me shall be hidden from men;' and from these two children are descended the Dvaerg and Underjordiske. The most striking story of a Dvaerg is that in the Danish family Bille, who have a Dvaerg in their coat of arms. There was, many hundred years ago, such a dry time in the land that all the water-mills could not work, and the people could not get their corn ground. A member of the family of Bille was in his Herregaard, and was much troubled on this account. A little Dvaerg came to him, who was covered with hair, and had a tree in his hand plucked up by the roots. 'What is the matter?' said the Dvaerg. 'It is no use my telling you' said Bille; 'you cannot help me.' The Dvaerg replied, 'You cannot get your corn ground, and you have many children and people that want bread; but I will show you a place on your own land where you can build seven corn-mills, and they shall never want water.' So Herr Bille built the seven mills, and they have never wanted water, winter or summer. The Dvaerg gave him also a little white horn, and told Herr Bille that as long as it was kept in the family, prosperity would attend it. This legend belongs to Sjaelland."

"I suppose there are many traditions in families in Denmark?" said Hardy.

"Very many," replied the Pastor. "There is a story of Tyge Brahe, or, as you call him in England, Tycho. He was at a wedding, and got into a quarrel with a Herr Manderup Parsberg, and it went so far that they fought a duel. Tyge Brahe lost his nose. But he had a nose made of gold and silver, so artistically correct that no one could see that it was any other than his own nose, and of flesh and blood; but to be sure that it should not be lost, he always carried some glue in his pocket."

"I never heard that story of the great astronomer," said Hardy.

"There is a story also of a Herr Eske Brok, who lived in Sjaelland. He was one day walking with a servant, and was swinging about his walking-stick, when suddenly a hat fell at his feet. He picked it up and put it on, when he heard an exclamation from his servant Then said Brok, 'You try the hat;' and they found that whoever had the hat on was invisible to the other. After a while, a bareheaded boy came to Brok's house and inquired for his hat, and offered a hundred ducats for it, and afterwards more. At last, the boy promised that if he gave him the hat none of his descendants should ever want. Brok gave the hat to the boy; but as he went away he said, 'But you shall never have sons, only daughters.' So Eske Brok was the last of his name."

"That boy must have been a Dvaerg," said Hardy.

"Quite as probable as the story," said the Pastor. "There is, however, another impossible story of a Herr Manderup Holck of Jutland. He was taken prisoner by the Turks, and his wife contrived his escape by sending him a dress of feathers, so that he could fly out of his Turkish prison and home to Jutland. She, with very great prudence, collected all the bed-clothes in the parish, that he should fall soft when he alighted in Jutland."

"The story is so improbable that it must be very old indeed," said Hardy.

"I think the tradition about the Rosenkrands' arms is older," said Pastor Lindal. "The date attached to it is given as A.D. 663. The son of the then King of Denmark went to England to help an English king, whose name is given as Ekuin, in his wars. He secretly married the daughter of the crown prince, and by her had a son. She placed the child in a box of gold, and placed a consecrated candle and salt in the box, because the child was not baptized. One day, her father, Prince Reduval, rode by and saw the child, and as it was in a gold box he concluded that it came from a noble source. He brought it up under the name of Karl. King Ekuin died, and Prince Reduval succeeded, and he was the first Christian king in England. He desired to marry Karl to his daughter, who was his own mother; but when the marriage should take place, she confessed that the bridegroom was her own son. The king therefore wanted to burn her at the stake, but Karl arranged matters so that his father should be married to his mother, who for nineteen years had been separated from her. Karl had painted on his arms a white cross, to show he was a Christian, then white and blue, to show he was both an English and a Danish prince. In one quartering he had a lion painted white with a crown, to signify Denmark, and in another quartering a lion, to signify England, and then a design like a chessboard, to betoken the long separation of his father and mother."

"I think the story rather clashes with history," said Hardy; "but Rosenkrands means a wreath of roses."

"Yes, it does," said the Pastor. "One of them went to Rome, and the pope gave him a wreath of roses; hence the name."

"You will miss Herr Hardy, little father," said Helga. "In two days he leaves us. Cannot he stay longer?"

"No, I cannot," said Hardy. "My mother wishes me to return. She is anxious to see me, and I am anxious to tell her my experiences in Denmark; but whatever my own wishes are, I must obey hers."

"What sort of person is your mother?" asked Helga.

"The best and kindest," replied Hardy, as he took a photograph out of his pocket-book and handed her, which Helga looked at with evident interest.

"I feel what you say of her is true," said Helga. "Little father, it is a noble face."

"It is like you, Hardy," said the Pastor. "She must have been handsome."

"Yes, but she is," said Hardy. "Here is a photograph of her picture at twenty-two;" and he handed the Pastor another photograph.

Helga looked over her father's shoulder. "It is lovely!" she said, with warmth. "It is more like you, Herr Hardy, than the other."

"As you like the photographs, Froken," said Hardy, "keep them; it is seldom a compliment is so well uttered."



CHAPTER XVII.

"Viator.—That will not be above a day longer; but if I live till May come twelvemonth, you are sure of me again, either with my Master Walton or without him." —The Complete Angler.

The next morning, John Hardy was up early, studying the excellent map of Jutland by Oberst Mansa. It gives the roads and by-ways with much care and correctness. The idea had occurred to him to drive the hundred and odd English miles from the parsonage to Esbjerg. The horses must be sent there to meet the steamer; the weather was settled, and as it was early in August, the early mornings and evenings were pleasant He accordingly sketched out the route, with the distances from one little Jutland town to another, and it was clear a good deal could be seen and the drive would be enjoyable.

Hardy came down to the little reception-room, where breakfast was usually served, and opened out Mansa's map on the table. Froken Helga was there, and her two brothers, Karl and Axel.

"I want to speak to your sister, boys," said Hardy; "you will hear all about it by-and-by, if you will go out for a while."

The boys left. Helga looked a little startled. Hardy said, "I have an extraordinary proposition to make; but you must not look so frightened." Helga had turned pale, her knitting dropped. "I only want your attention to this map of Jutland," added Hardy. He saw her face was now full of colour; but what about the map of Jutland? Hardy, an inconsistent man for the moment, was thinking of who else in the world but Kapellan Holm, and his being at Vandstrup Praestegaard all the winter, and that was not the map of Jutland. Suddenly it flashed across his mind that Pastor Lindal had told him about Kapellan Holm, and that Karl had repeated what Mathilde Jensen had said about his buying Rosandal. As he sat thinking, he looked all the time at Helga. At length he said, "I am going home to my mother, Froken, but I hope to be here in May; earlier I cannot come, because it would be cold for my mother to travel."

"We shall be glad to see you, Herr Hardy; and I long to see your mother," said Helga.

Then Hardy knew that Kapellan Holm was nowhere, and his face grew bright, and he was ready for the map of Jutland.

Hardy explained his idea of driving to Esbjerg, and the extraordinary proposition was that he proposed to take not only Karl, but Helga Lindal herself and Axel.

"I should so like it," said Helga, "but——"

"I know," said Hardy, "that there are likely to be several 'buts.' The serious one is that the Pastor would not like to leave his parish for five days. Can this be arranged? Can he get any one to come here?"

"He will write the Provost" (the dean), replied Helga. "But he has already arranged to go to Esbjerg to see Karl off to England, and as we thought you might go to England earlier, a Hjaelpe-praest is ready to come here at any time; a day more or less will make no difference."

"The next 'but' is, whether the Herr Pastor would like it," said Hardy.

"That I am sure he will; but he must consider the expense," replied Helga, "and there would be the extra railway expense of my returning here."

"Then we leave at midday for Silkeborg," said Hardy. "Will you, Froken, tell your father about it? he is in his study; and now we can tell the boys;" and he called them, sent Axel for Garth, and told Karl to be ready at midday.

The Pastor immediately bustled in. "What a scheme you have hatched!" he said.

"Yes; but you cannot have had time to have heard it," said Hardy, "much more to condemn it."

"Helga came into my study and said, 'Little father, Herr Hardy wants to drive us all by stages to see Karl off; can we go?' Now, is that the scheme?"

"Certainly," replied Hardy. "We want you to send our heavy luggage to the station for Esbjerg, and a telegram to Silkeborg to order dinner at five and beds, and leave here at midday. The next day we can get to Horsens, and then to Veile, or farther. I have taken out the different places and distances by Mansa's map, which you can check. Here is also the English guide-book for Jutland. We can have a row on the lake at Silkeborg this evening, and as I have been your guest so long, I invite you to be mine to Esbjerg. I must leave now, or we should miss the steamer."

Hardy's quiet self-possession overcame the scruples the Pastor was about to make. He had been bound to his parish for years, and not even his youngest son would enjoy the drive to Esbjerg more.

"Honestly said," the Pastor spoke, addressing Hardy, and using a familiar Danish phrase, "I should enjoy it more than I can say."

Helga liked Hardy's way of treating the money difficulty. It was done with such tact that it seemed as if Hardy was receiving a favour.

Axel came in with Robert Garth.

"Bob," said Hardy, in English, "we shall drive to Esbjerg by stages; clear everything, and get ready to start at twelve."

"Thank you, sir," said Garth, and was gone.

"What did you say." said Helga, whose knowledge of English was slight. Hardy explained.

The man's ready obedience struck her, and lingered in her mind long after. She was not accustomed to the prompt execution of such an order by a servant, and attributed it to Hardy's personal character and influence.

After breakfast, during which much conversation arose on the proposed drive, Hardy came down with his fly-rods, books, and reels, and the precious little spring balance.

"There," he said, "Froken Helga, is all the fly-fishing gear; the flies in the small book are best for the Gudenaa. I hope you will break all the rods and smash all the tackle, to give me the pleasure of bringing you fresh ones from England."

She thanked him in the Danish manner that Hardy liked so much in her.

At twelve they left for Silkeborg. Hardy drove, and Garth rode Buffalo. The Pastor sat by Hardy's side, and told many an interesting anecdote of the places they passed. The circumstances of the Danish families, the tradition of a Kaempehoi or tumulus, and the social condition of the people were all known to him. Hardy drove slowly, as the day was warm, and he wished to spare his horses, and it was not until a little after five that they reached the hotel at Silkeborg. Hardy had been there before, with Karl and Axel, and they knew him, and obeyed his telegram to the letter.

"I have a proposition to make," said Hardy, "but I will leave it to my guests to do as they please, I propose we have a row on the lake this evening, but not for long; but to-morrow that we rise at six and charter one of the wheel boats, that is the paddle-wheel boats that are worked by hand, and visit Himmelbjerg, and have breakfast there, and the carriage can meet us at the foot of the hill, at a point to the south of it, and we can drive on to Horsens."

"Excellent!" said Helga, using a Danish expression. "But it will be a long day for my father."

"We should get to Horsens at six, and we can telegraph to the hotel to be ready to receive us at that time," said Hardy. "But the next day is only nineteen English miles to Veile, and would be less fatiguing."

"I like to be tired, Hardy, by outdoor exercise," said Pastor Lindal. "Your plan is excellent, and is just what I should not only like, but enjoy."

The row on the lake was very pleasant. The Pastor told the story of Bishop Peter applying to the pope to decree a separation of all the married priests from their wives, and how the three sisters of the priest there drew lots who should go to Rome to get a dispensation for their brother to keep his wife. The lot fell on the youngest, and she went to Rome and got the pope's permission; but on the condition that she should have cast three bells, which she shipped at Lubeck, one bell was lost in the sea, and the two others were placed in two churches near Aarhus.

The view from Himmelbjerg has the strong charm of great variety. The lakes are spread out below, amongst woods, heaths, meadows, and cultivated land. The early morning gives the view at its best. There are views and views, but the variety of prospect from Himmelbjerg impresses. Juul So, the lake at the foot of the Himmelbjerg, is at times lovely.

Axel was, however, very hungry. The view might be good, but a growing boy's appetite is good also. He asked his father if he might go to the restaurant in Himmelbjerg and get a bit of Smor-brod (bread and butter). Karl said he wanted to go, too. There had been the long row up the lakes, the walks about Himmelbjerg, and even Froken Helga looked hungry. As soon as they came to the restaurant, the waiter told them that breakfast was waiting for them.

"Waiting for us!" said the Pastor; "it is more likely we shall have to wait for our breakfast."

"I thought that you might prefer that the breakfast should be ready, and I ordered it yesterday. I sent a note up last night," said Hardy.

The breakfast was the more enjoyed from Hardy's thoughtfulness, so much so that when the inevitable porcelain pipe was filled, it was a difficulty to get the Pastor down the Himmelbjerg. When they at last reached the carriage, which a man from the hotel at Silkeborg had driven, as Garth had charge of Buffalo, the Pastor decided to go in the carriage, and not by Hardy's side. Helga, after seeing her father comfortable, got up by Hardy, and talked to him unreservedly.

The bright ripple of Helga's talk was pleasant to hear in its clear transparency. She told Hardy of her father so long as she could recollect, and the great sorrow that fell upon him when her mother died, and how difficult it was to keep him from the bitter memory of his loss; that she was with him at every spare moment, and how at times it was beyond her power to cheer him; but that since Hardy had been with them, her father had scarcely shown a sign of the sorrow they knew was always at his heart.

"It is the way you listen," said Helga, "that my father likes. You cannot, he says, speak Danish as well as we Danes, but your manner of listening is perfect, and that there is a respectful attention impossible to describe."

"I can describe it," said Hardy, laughing. "The fact is, I know Danish not very perfectly, and my whole attention is necessary to grasp what is said."

"I told him so," said Helga; "but he said there is more than that—it was true politeness."

"Well," said Hardy, "you have now explained that you have not so good an opinion of me as your father."

"No," said Helga; "that's not my meaning. I only related what passed, and I am not able to judge any one like my father."

"I have heard, however, that you have differed from your father in judging a particular person," said Hardy, "and a man whom your father speaks well of."

"That is Kapellan Holm," said Helga, quickly, "My father has told you about him?"

"Yes," replied Hardy; "but I do not wish you to tell me any more about him, and to prevent your thoughts being occupied by the Kapellan, would you like to drive a few miles?"

"Gladly," replied Helga, using the pretty Danish phrase that so well expressed her meaning.

She insisted on taking off her gloves to drive, and said she could not feel the reins so well, and disliked wearing gloves in hot weather.

Hardy showed her how to hold the reins so as to feel the horses' mouth slightly. She appeared to like to hear the quick sound of the horses trotting.

"How easily they go! There is no difficulty in slackening or quickening their speed, and they obey the least touch on the rein," said Helga.

"We have been training them for my mother to drive, and Garth drives well," said Hardy.

"I should so like to learn to ride!" said Helga, carried away by her admiration of the horses.

"That is what I once offered to teach you," said Hardy, "and you replied in the negative so decidedly that I did not like to refer to the subject afterwards."

"Yes; Kirstin said it was not womanly to ride, and that I was not a Bondetos" (a peasant girl), replied Helga. "But I do not see that it is different in that respect to driving a horse in a carriage, and if horses are kept, I think that it is useful to be able to ride them. There was also another reason why I did not wish you to teach me to ride, that I cannot tell you."

"Then do not tell me," said Hardy. "But supposing I am at Rosendal, in May, next year, will there be any objection then, if your father has none?"

"No," said Helga, involuntarily.

"Then I will recollect to bring over an English lady's saddle," said Hardy.

The Pastor, overcome with his walk, his breakfast, and the warmth of the day, had fallen asleep, and woke up to the situation that his daughter was driving the carriage.

"Stop!" he cried; "you will upset the carriage, Helga. You must not drive; you will throw down the horses."

"She has driven for the last ten miles, Herr Pastor," said Hardy.

The worthy Pastor, however, was so decided, that Hardy had to take the reins and drive into Horsens. He had telegraphed and ordered dinner at six, and drove into the hotel yard, but was scarcely prepared to find so many people collected there. They had simply come to see Buffalo, whose reputation had risen after the horse-race. They smoked, spat, criticized, and praised. "Sikken en Hest."

As they came in, Hardy gave a very necessary order to his servant, Robert Garth, namely, to get the horses' feet well washed, as the roads are so sandy.

The dinner was well served, and much praised by Pastor Lindal, who of course had a legend to relate, of Holger Danske, whose sword was buried with him near Horsens. The sword was so heavy that, when it was taken from the Kaempehoi, or tumulus, twelve horses could not draw it. The walls of the house in which it was placed shook, and so much unhappiness occurred that the sword was restored to its resting place in the tumulus, and on its return journey two horses could draw it easily. Holger Danske was so big a man, that when he had a suit of clothes made, the tailors were obliged to use ladders to take his measure; but one day an unfortunate tailor tickled him in the ear with his scissors, and Holger Danske thought it was a flea, and squeezed him to death between his fingers."

"There were giants in those days," said Hardy.

"There is in the Kloster (cloister) Church at Horsens a hole in the wall, across which is an iron cross. Behind this a nun was walled up alive. She had, it was said, been confined of a dog. There is a stone in which a dog is figured, to preserve the recollection of so very extraordinary a circumstance, and a place is shown where her fingers marked the stone of the wall in her last agony."

"The practice of walling people up," said Hardy, "was very general in Denmark, was it not?"

"Yes, if tradition be true," said the Pastor, "which, as you know, we must receive cum grano salis. There is a story of a man walling up his woman-servant, because she cooked a cat for his dinner. He had caught a hare, but a dog had stolen it, so she cooked a cat instead. This enraged her master, and he walled her up alive."

"Thank you, Herr Pastor, for your legends," said Hardy; "but I should like to walk through the little town, and I dare say Karl and Axel would too, if we may leave you and Froken Helga."

"By all means," said the Pastor, "and Helga will go too."

"No, little father, I will stay with you," said Helga. "You will have no one to fill your pipe, and will feel lonely."

As John Hardy went out, he gave Karl and Axel some money. The boys asked what it was for.

"To buy anything you like, as far it will go," said Hardy.

The boys, however, would not take it; they were sure their father would not wish it, after the expense Hardy had already been put to on their account.

"Your father would be quite right," said Hardy; but he recollected it, and this small circumstance, told him that Karl could be trusted, and assisted him more to get Karl a situation of trust than Hardy's influence and that of his friends.



CHAPTER XVIII.

"Viator.—Methinks the way is mended since I had the good fortune to fall into your good company." —The Complete Angler.

Horsens was explored the next day, but Hardy had a purpose in view. He knew his mother would like to see photographs of his Danish friends. The chief reason for a walk the night before was to ascertain the photographer's shop. This he discovered, and proposed that they should all be separately photographed.

"You want to show your mother our photographs," said Helga.

"I do," said Hardy. "You have all been so kind to me that it would interest her."

"I should like to see the photographs before they are sent you," said Helga.

"That you can," said Hardy. "They shall be sent you, and if you do not like them, do not send them to me."

"Nonsense," said the Pastor; "they shall of course be sent you. I can understand that if you have a photograph it will describe more than any description, and we will send them, or rather the photographer shall; it is not that we should wish to appear other than as we really are. If the photographs are not what is called successful, you can explain that, if you like, but I, for my part, would rather not be favoured by any artificial process."

"You are right, little father," said Helga; and they were all photographed separately, except Hardy and Karl, as the Pastor objected to the latter. "They will see Karl himself, and there is no need of the expense," he said; "and Hardy we shall not forget."

They left Horsens a little after midday for Veile, a distance, as before stated, of about nineteen English miles. Pastor Lindal sat by Hardy as he drove, and as they passed by Engom, he told the story of how Ove Lunge had sold himself to the evil one, "Ove Lunge made a bargain with the owners of the land near to acquire as much land as he could ride a foal just born round, whilst the priest was preaching a sermon in the pulpit at Engom Church. They assented readily; but the foal ridden by Herr Ove Lunge went like a bird, and two black boars followed, rooting up the line the foal took, so as to enclose the land. On his way, Herr Ove Lunge met a Bonde with an axe, and he was obliged to turn aside, as the evil one has no power against an edge of steel. Therefore there were many irregularities in the foal's course. The Bonde who had thus sought to interrupt Herr Ove Lunge, rushed to the church at Engom, and besought the priest to vacate the pulpit, who did so, and thus saved much land passing into Herr Ove Lunge's possession. As Herr Ove Lunge had sold himself to the evil one, he can of course find no rest, and his ghost is seen, followed by his hounds, as he hunts at night over the property thus acquired."

"Are their many legends relating to Veile?" asked Hardy.

"A few," replied the Pastor, "and some historical, Gorm den Gamle, that is Gorm the old and his Queen Thyra, are buried in two tumuli, or Kaempehoi, at Jellinge, near Veile. At Queen Thyra's tumulus there was once a spring of water which sprung up, it is related as evidence of her purity. One day, however, a Bonde washed a horse that had the glanders at the spring, when it at once dried up.

"At the same place, Jellinge (the final e is pronounced like a), in the year 1628, a priest called Soren Stefensen was suspected by the Swedes of being in correspondence with the Danes, when the Swedes were invading Jutland, and had occupied Jellinge, The messenger who went with his letters was taken, and a letter was found in a stick he carried. The Swedes hung him up to his own church door by his beard to a great hook, and he is said to have hung there a long time; but at last they took him down, and hung him on a gallows. He was priest at Veile, and the governor of the Latin school there, from 1614 to 1619."

"In Shakespeare's play of 'Hamlet'" said Hardy, "it is described of Hamlet's father that he smote the sledded Polaks on the ice."

"Our story of Amlet, not Hamlet, is as follows," said the Pastor. "At Mors, a place in Jutland, there was a king called Fegge. He had a tower at a place which is now called Fegge Klit ('klit' is a sand-hill), and from thence he sent his ships to sea, in the Western sea, that is your North sea. He and his brother Hvorvendil took turns to rule at land or at sea, so that one should be at sea three years, and the other on land three years. Fegge, however, became jealous of Hvorvendil's power and good luck, and killed him and married his wife, which murder was avenged by Amlet, her son, who slew Fegge, whose grave is yet shown at Fegge Klit. The word 'sledded,' is bad Danish for driving in a sledge. Polak is a Pole, and near Veile they committed great atrocities. They killed women and children, and stole the Bonder's cattle; and a man had often to buy his own bullock, and the price went down to such a degree that the price at last reached about 2d, (English) for a cow. They were hired by the Swedes to plunder Denmark. They came to a Praestegaard, near Veile, and stole and plundered; but a man in the priest's service, called Hans Nielsen, told the priest's wife to give them all the drink she could. They all got drunk. Hans Nielsen took away their arms. He then bound them one by one, and made one of them shoot all the rest, one after the other. This man confessed he was a Dane, but had joined the Swedes. So Hans Nielsen killed him with a sword, for being a traitor. The Poles were all buried in a hole, which is now called Polakhullet, or the Pole's hole. They committed such devastation in the very district we are now passing, that a man from Thy met a woman from Skaane, in Sweden, and she at once offered to marry him in the dialect of the time.

"'Aa vil du vaere min Mand? Saa vil a vaere din Kone; Du er fod i Thyeland, Og a er fod i Skaane.'

"'Oh, will you be my man? So will I be your wife; You are born in Thyeland, And I am born in Skaane.'

This is a nursery rhyme to this day. There is also a weed called Charlock in England, the seed of this was brought by them with the fodder they had with them, and it is now all over Denmark."

"What you have told me about Shakespeare's play would, I fear, excite some controversy amongst persons who make Shakespeare their study in England," said Hardy.

"I can only say," rejoined the Pastor, "that the tradition is as related by me."

"We shall soon be at Veile," said Hardy, turning round to Froken Helga Lindal. She had heard that her father talked incessantly to Hardy, so was satisfied that all went well.

"I wish it was double the distance away," she said; "I enjoy travelling like this so much!"

Veile is a pretty little Jutland town, and as they drove up to the hotel Hardy had selected and telegraphed to, they determined to have a walk in the neighbourhood at once, and postpone dinner a little later.

"There was a fire once in Veile, in the year 1739," said the Pastor. "A woman who was thought out of her mind, at Easter visited a neighbour, who showed her the clothes she had made to wear at Easter; but the woman said, 'What will this avail, when the whole street will be burned in eight days; but although I shall perish in the flames, yet my body will be laid out in the town hall before I am buried?' The next Sunday, a boy in firing off some powder he had put in a door key, set fire to a house. The mad woman, as she was called, had forgotten some things in the house, and went in for them; but her clothes caught on fire, and she died from the burns she received. She was taken to the town hall as the nearest place, and the street she indicated was burnt.

"There is another story of an old monastery near Veile. The name of the abbot was Muus (mouse). He was so hostile to the king that it was determined to suppress the monastery. The force commissioned to execute the king's order sent word to the abbot that he could leave the monastery, if not, they should be obliged, in execution of their orders, to arrest him. This message was given the abbot when he was at dinner, and he replied that the mouse must have time to eat his dinner in peace. The commander of the force replied not longer than the cat will permit, and took the place by force. It is said this happened in the thirteenth century."

"The place appears to bristle with legends," said Hardy. "Are there more?"

"Many more; but I will not tell you any more until after dinner."

"That is right, little father," said his daughter, who always feared that he might get too tired before he retired to rest.

The dinner at Veile was excellent. The host had asked Hardy what they would like, and Hardy had replied that he would leave it to him to get as good a dinner as he could. The consequence was that the host did his best. The Pastor was greatly pleased at Hardy's simple manner of ordering a dinner, but that it should be successful was a greater success still.

The tobacco-parliament continued to be held, although for the time at Veile. The journey had a good effect on Pastor Lindal, whose temperament was naturally cheerful. He talked on subjects that Hardy had no idea he had any knowledge of in natural science. He had studied Darwin, and had even read a book of Sir John Lubbock's. At last Hardy interrupted.

"There are no more legends or traditions of Veile, are there?" he said.

"As I have said before, there are many," was the reply, "and here is one. Once there were two brothers living near Fredericia, one was rich, the other was poor. The place they lived at wanted a church. The rich brother would contribute nothing, and his brother said that if he were so rich he would build the church himself. The next night he dreamt that on a bridge at Veile, called the southern bridge, he would hear of something to his advantage. He went to Veile, and walked up and down it all day. At last an officer passed and repassed him, and asked him what he wanted. He told him he had dreamt he would find a treasure on Veile bridge. The officer replied, 'I dreamt that I should find a treasure in a barn near Fredericia,' belonging to a Bonde he named. It was the man's own name. He found the treasure. One day he was out looking round for a place to build the church on when he met his brother, who did not know what had happened. He said, 'I am going to build the church, and I am looking round to find the best site.' 'Indeed,' said the rich brother; 'if you build the church, I will give the bells.' But when he saw the church would be built, it vexed the avaricious man so much to have to give the bells, that he went and hung himself.

"There is an authenticated story of a priest, as we are generally called," continued the Pastor, "at the time of the plague, in 1654. It was brought by a ship to Copenhagen, and spread rapidly. The priest at Urlev Praestegaard had some clothes sent him belonging to his relatives, who had died of the plague at Copenhagen. His name was Soren Pedersen Prip. As soon as he saw the plague had occurred in his household, his only thought was how to prevent its spreading in his parish. He forbade all intercourse; and as his servants, wife, and children died one after the other, he hoisted a flag, as a signal when he wanted a coffin, which, as he had no one to send to fetch it, he managed to convey on a wheelbarrow, and he himself buried all his household. But that the people should not be without hearing God's word, he preached to them from a stone in the churchyard, which is yet shown. There is said to be also a carved wooden basrelief of him in the church."

"He might have said, 'Exegi monumentum aere perennius'" said Hardy. "Such a man exhibits one side of your national character that the world has honoured and will honour. You say the stone can be pointed out. It is a matter of surprise to me that the stones used in many places in your old walls about churchyards and old buildings are so varied in character: there are, for instance, red and grey granite, syenite, the older sandstones, but all of the older geological formations. The side, for instance, of Viborg Cathedral is like a piece of old-fashioned patchwork from this cause, and has not a good effect."

"In the glacial period these stones were brought down by the ice and stranded on Jutland," said the Pastor; "they are scattered over the whole country more or less. There is a legend of a giant who lived at Veile, who threw these stones at Graverslund Church; but he was a bad shot, and this accounts for the stones being found everywhere. His name was Gavl; but it was the ice of the glacial period that was the giant."

"It will not be possible to visit Kolding," said Hardy, "because it would make us too late for the steamer. We shall have a longer run than usual to-morrow, and reach Esbjerg midday the day after, and the steamer leaves at night. Are there any traditions of Kolding, Herr Pastor?"

"A number, and, of course, attached to Koldinghuus, which was erected in the thirteenth century," said the Pastor. "The oldest story is that of the bloodstains in Koldinghuus. It is said that a king lived there, who had an only daughter. For some reason he determined to kill her, and decided that as she was fond of dancing she should be danced to death. He therefore, amongst his officers, sought out the toughest for the work; but his daughter danced with nine of them without signs of giving way. The king was enraged. He danced with her himself, and then cut with his dagger the belt she wore, which had sustained her, so says the legend. Her mouth filled with blood, and she died in her father's arms. Nothing could wash the stain of her blood out of the floor.

"As to Kolding itself, there are several stories," continued the Pastor. "There is more than one about the church clock, which never keeps time, the reason is that the men in an adjoining town, not far from Kolding, had in a time of scarcity borrowed seed from the men from Kolding, and had pledged a neighbouring meadow, which should belong to the men of Kolding if the value of the seed was not paid on a certain day and at a certain hour. When the time came, the men of Kolding induced the clock-keeper to alter the clock; and when the borrowers came to repay the loan, it was too late, and the meadow was adjudged to belong to the men of Kolding. There is a variation of this story, that the widow of Henning Limbek borrowed the money and pledged the meadow with the same result. She was on the bridge and heard the clock strike twelve and she at once returned home and surrendered the meadow to the men of Kolding. There is another story of a rich man who lived near Kolding, and they offered him a large sum for the meadow, and the terms were settled at a feast. The rich man, however, had a horse, and he affirmed that the horse would gallop from his house to Kolding by a certain time. This the men of Kolding denied as possible. He then offered to wager the meadow against a considerable sum that the horse would. The horse performed the journey within the time stated, but the clock had been altered. Ever since, the church clock has never been correct."