"Yes," said Hardy; "and I see you think that it would not be the same
old Rosendal to you again; but you have not seen how pretty the
surroundings of our English homes are made by these means, and the
exercise of judicious taste."

"But it would not be the same Rosendal to me," said Helga,
unconsciously uttering the very thought Hardy had read in her handsome
face.

"Possibly not," replied Hardy; "but your first exclamation would be
that you could not have believed Rosendal could have been made so
beautiful. A natural gem must be polished to exhibit its full beauty."

"That may be; but the thought of seeing Rosendal changed, Hardy, is
what strikes us," said the Pastor.

"Well, Herr Pastor, there is one thing I will do," said Hardy, "and
that is, before I do anything the plans shall be submitted to your and
Frøken Helga's judgment."

"Which, I fear, we shall not understand," said the Pastor.

"Yes, you will, because you will have the plan of the estate, as it
now exists, before you as well as the plan of the proposed
alterations; but, as far as I myself can see, no striking change would
be desirable, or would be suggested."

"But why have you bought Rosendal, Herr Hardy?" asked Helga, looking
full at him. She had all a woman's curiosity, and it was inexplicable
to her what motive Hardy could have had for his purchase.

"I will tell you when my mother comes here next year," said Hardy.

"You have bought it for a residence for your mother, then?" said
Helga, inquiringly.

"I cannot say I have," replied Hardy.

They had come to the shores of the little lake, where the two boys had
been anxiously watching the trimmers that Garth had assisted them in
setting round the reeds; but although they saw several fish were on,
Garth would not let them take the boat to the lines until his master
came. Hardy saw the situation, and said--

"Don't wait, Bob; take the lads to the lines, and let them pull them
up."

Several pike were brought ashore, but none of any size. It had been
the habit of the former owner of Rosendal to use nets, and take out
the largest fish, so as not to allow a few monsters to tyrannize over
the rest of the fish in the lake. The boys had seen similar tackle to
the English trimmers, but neither so neat nor effective.

"We do not consider this method of fishing a fair way in England,"
said Hardy; "it is adopted by poachers, to steal fish from private
ponds, and it is not popular with anglers. The approved method is to
troll for pike."

"Very interesting to the fish, if they only knew it," said the Pastor.
"I fear when on the hooks they would scarcely appreciate the
distinction. For my part, I do not like the mode of fishing you have
just practised, as a little fish is kept in misery until the pike
chops him with his teeth, or it dies on the hook."

"You are quite right to condemn it in that way," said Hardy; and,
turning to Karl and Axel, added, "You hear what your father says; so
when you wish to fish here you must troll, as you saw me do at
Silkeborg; and as only one can troll in the boat at one time, I will
give you my trolling-rod and gear, so that you can fish when you
like."

"Thank you, so much, Herr Hardy," said the boys at once. "You are
always good, and think so much about us."

"You are kind. Hardy," said the Pastor; while Frøken Helga looked as
if she did not understand Hardy.

As they walked up to the mansion from the lake, they went through the
valley of roses, which has before been described as giving the name to
Rosendal.

"What do you say, Frøken Helga, to this place?" asked Hardy. "Is there
no room for improvement here? There are a few ragged rose bushes
widely distributed, and in the whole valley of roses scarcely a dozen
roses in bloom at a time of the year when there should be abundance."

"More roses might be planted, Herr Hardy," said Helga; "but your view
would be to plant a straight row of standards, with a gravel walk down
the middle."

"You are like Kirstin, always imputing evil to me," said Hardy. "Such
a walk would destroy the natural effect of the valley, and would be a
sin to do."

Helga started. She did not know that Hardy was ignorant of Kirstin's
conduct towards him. The Pastor, with his delicate instinct, at once
saw that Hardy was ignorant of Kirstin's tale of shame, or he would
not have referred to it.

"Whatever Hardy does, Helga," said the Pastor, "will be thoughtfully
done."

"No doubt of it," said Helga; "he is a cool and calculating
Englishman." She was vexed at the illusion to Kirstin.

When they came close to the mansion, Hardy said, "Now, here the
grounds do not require alteration, provided they were always covered
with snow, which, however frequent, is not what we can fall back upon
in a summer residence, which Rosendal is. There is the straight drive
up to the door steps, a clump of bushes each side of a bit of meadow
grass, and that is all; and there is a straight view from the house to
the lake, there is no break or change, nothing catches the eye except
the tethered cows. It is like the toy houses made at Leipsic for
children to play with. Surely a change that introduces a thought of
beauty in the landscape would not be destructive to Rosendal, Frøken
Helga."

"You appear, Herr Hardy, to find fault with everything Danish," said
Helga, sharply; "our horses are inferior, our houses are, and even our
gardens are."

"But I never said you were," broke in Hardy, with a laugh.

"No; but I see you think it," retorted Helga. "You have heard me say
that I like Rosendal as it is, and you exhibit your English ideas to
show how uncivilized and wanting in taste I am."

"But are you not imputing evil," said Hardy, "like Kirstin, the
grossly suspicious?"

Helga blushed and said nothing, and Pastor Lindal determined to tell
Hardy what Kirstin had imputed to him.

As Garth brought round the horses and a man led out Buffalo, Karl was
struck with a great wish to ride the English horse. He asked Hardy
hesitatingly. Hardy told him to ask his father, who looked at Hardy.

"The horse is likely to give him a fall," he said, "and he might get
an awkward fall; but boys should learn to ride, and I have no
objections if you have not."

The Pastor assented, the stirrups were shortened, and Karl mounted.

"Don't pull at his mouth," said Hardy; "he does not like a stranger
interfering with his mouth."

"And might I jump him over a ditch on the way home?" begged Karl.

"You may; but I think you had better leave that alone," said Hardy.

Garth drove, and Hardy chatted with the Pastor, but kept his eye fixed
on Karl. Buffalo went along at a smooth trot after the carriage--so
far, so well; but when they came to the meadow running down to the
Gudenaa, Karl rode into the meadow and galloped at a water ditch in
the same manner as he had often seen Hardy do. Buffalo stretched out
and took the ditch like a bird, making a longer jump than was at all
necessary. There was a loud splash and a scream from Frøken Helga, and
Buffalo, with an empty saddle, was galloping away.

Hardy took the reins from Garth, as he said coolly, "Pick the lad out
of the ditch, and catch the horse. There is nothing to fear, Herr
Pastor."

Garth called the horse, which stopped. He then assisted Karl out of
the ditch, who was covered with peaty slime, wiped the mud from his
face and mouth, and pointed to the carriage. Garth then crossed the
ditch on a plank bridge and caught Buffalo, and rode him over the
ditch, coming to the side of the carriage. Karl looked foolish.

"There, is nothing to be ashamed of, Karl," said Hardy. "I had many a
fall before I learnt how to stick on. It is what we all have to go
through. Come up by the side of me, little man; you would make your
father and sister in a mess."

The Pastor and his daughter were, for the moment, much frightened by
the incident; but Hardy's manner of treating it as a matter of course
reassured them.

"There was no cause for alarm, Herr Pastor," said Hardy. "Karl can, if
he will, assure you that the mud at the bottom of the ditch was as
soft as eider down. Garth, ride on; I will drive up to the parsonage,
and thence to the stables."

"Thank you for a pleasant day, Hardy," said the Pastor, as he went
into his house.

"Stop, Herr Pastor! here are the pike that were caught in the lake.
Take what you like, and I will send the rest to Widow Rasmussen."

The pike cooked that day for dinner was, Hardy thought, a fish with as
strong a flavour of mud as any fish could possibly possess. The
horse-radish sauce, and the sage and bread with which it was stuffed,
availed nothing, and Hardy formed a resolution with regard to the lake
that afterwards had the result of its being stocked with trout instead
of pike.

CHAPTER XI.

    "_Piscator._--I love such mirth as does not make
    friends ashamed to look upon one another the next
    morning."--_The Complete Angler._

When the tobacco parliament began the evening after the excursion to
Rosendal, Pastor Lindal said, "I have told Herr Hardy the nature of
Kirstin's imputations against him, and what he said to-day to you,
Helga, was in ignorance of that. I am quite sure that he would never
have referred to Kirstin in the way he did had he known everything.
His only thought was that Kirstin was generally suspicious and that
was all. He had no idea that when you criticized his treatment of
Rosendal that he was comparing your conduct with what was bad."

Helga looked puzzled; but after a while she rose up from her seat, and
extended her hand to Hardy. "I hope you will forgive me, Herr Hardy,
if I have not understood you."

"Thank you," said Hardy. "I had hoped that my character was so simple
that it left nothing to the imagination or to construction. It appears
to me to be a work of time to acquire the approving confidence of any
one in Jutland."

"I begin to think you are true," said Helga. "You have said no single
word which has not been borne out; but your opinions differ from ours,
and that widely."

"There is, of course," said Hardy, "the difference of nationality, but
in the wide world what is best is best, and if anything I do or say
differs from your national feeling, yet if it be right and best it is
best."

"Good, very good," said the Pastor. "We are all in the hands of a
Higher Power, and we have to obey it. It is not for us to criticize
and doubt, but to obey."

"But it is not a question of religion," said Helga, "if we Danes
differ in opinion from the English or if our customs are different."

"Just so," said the Pastor; "but God is over all. Nation may call to
nation and generation to generation; but, as Herr Hardy suggests,
nationalities may differ, but what is best in thought and deed will
come to the front."

"But why should he despise us?" asked Helga.

"Herr Hardy despises nothing," replied her father. "He sees and
appreciates what is good in us, and sympathizes with the stability of
the Danish character, but he naturally values the broader thought in
everyday life of the English people."

"That is because he is an Englishman," retorted Helga.

"You forget, Helga, that Herr Hardy is present," said her father, "and
what you have said would pain him. If he be an Englishman he cannot
help it, and if he should be English in thought and character it is
not what you should condemn. He is only true to himself. Since he has
been with us, what has his conduct been?"

Helga knitted in silence; she felt the justice of her father's reproof
and her injustice to Hardy.

Hardy, to change the conversation, said to Karl, "Well, Karl, you have
not told us how soft you found the ditch that you went to the bottom
of."

"I do not know how I fell off," said Karl. "I was suddenly under water
in the ditch."

"You fell off as Buffalo was about to jump. He checked his stride
before he jumped, and then you tumbled off," said Hardy.

"What should I have done?" asked Karl.

"Stuck on," replied Hardy. "You have to learn the motion of the horse
when jumping, which only practise gives."

"It was like the Damhest," said the Pastor, "which is a legendary
horse that comes out of mill-dams, ponds, or lakes, at night, and
entices people to ride it, when it jumps into the water. The best
story of it is from Thisted, a little to the north-west of this. Three
tipsy Bønder (farmers) were going home, when one of them wished for a
horse, that they might ride home, when, lo! there appeared a
long-backed black horse, on whose back they all clambered, and there
appeared room for many more. As the last man got up he exclaimed--

'Herre, Jesu Kors
Aldrig saae jeg saadan Hors.'

'By the Lord Jesu's cross,
Never saw I such a horse.'

Instantly at that holy name the horse disappeared from under them, and
the three Bønder were lying on the ground. The Danish word for horse
is 'hest,' but the Jutland people use the word 'hors,' in their
dialect."

"There is a similar legend in the Shetland Islands; but, then, it is a
little horse that jumps into the sea, with the unfortunate person it
has enticed to mount it," said Hardy.

"There is also a similar legend in France," said the Pastor. "The
horse is called 'Le Lutin.' We have another legendary horse, that is
said to abide in churchyards, and has three legs. The legend has
arisen from the practice in old times of burying a living horse at the
funeral of a man of distinction. This horse's ghost is called the
'Helhest.' If any one meets it, it is a sign to him of an early death.
It is a tradition of the cathedral at Aarhus, that such a horse is
occasionally seen there. A man whose window looked out to the
cathedral exclaimed one day to a neighbour, 'What horse is that?'
There is none,' said his neighbour. 'Then it must be the Helhest,'
said the other, who shortly after died. It is said that in the
cathedral at Roeskilde, there is a narrow stone on which, in old
times, people used to spit, because a Helhest was buried there. The
word 'hel' is from 'hæl,' a heel, because the horse lacked one hoof or
heel. The legend appears to have existed in the Roman times, as they
called it Unipes, or the one-footed."

"The pronunciation of 'hel' in Danish is as if it were spelt in
English as 'hæl'" said Hardy. "I certainly never heard that legend
before."

"There are other legends of animals," said Pastor Lindal. "There is
the Kirkelam, or the church lamb. This arose from the practice, when a
church was founded, to bury under the altar a living lamb, to prevent,
it was said, the church from sinking. This lamb's ghost was called the
Kirkelam, and, if at any time a child was about to die, the church
lamb was supposed to appear at the threshold of the door. In
Carlslunde church tower there is a bas-relief of a lamb, to show that
a living lamb was buried there when the church was built. It is
related that a woman was sent for to nurse another woman who was very
ill; as she went through the churchyard, she was aware of something
like a dog or a cat rubbing itself against her clothes. She stooped
down to look at it, in the half light of the evening, when, lo! it was
the church lamb. The sick woman died at the very same instant, so runs
the legend."

"The legend of the Kirkelam," said Hardy, "is distinctive, insomuch as
it appears symbolical, and not based, as most legends are, on the
fancies and wild imaginations of the people."

"In the olden times of Christianity," said Pastor Lindal, "it was
found necessary to employ symbols, and to take measures to occupy the
attention of an ignorant people, and it is possible that thus the
practice arose to be followed by the legend."

"It was a heathen practice to bury living creatures," continued the
Pastor, "to avert the plague, when sometimes they buried children, or
for other fantastic reasons. Thus, there is the legend of the Gravso,
meaning the buried sow. The reason for its having been buried alive is
lost. The sow is supposed to appear in the streets of towns, and when
it appears is an omen of bad luck or death. Sometimes it is said that
it runs between people's legs, and takes them on its back, and leaves
them in strange places."

"You said just now that children were buried to avert or stay the
plague, when it visited Denmark," said Hardy; "does there exist any
authentic record of such, or does it rest entirely on tradition?"

"I fear we must admit it to have occurred," replied Pastor Lindal.
"The records of it are too many and consistent to doubt the truth of
the practice. There is a tradition of a place in Jutland where all the
inhabitants died of the plague, and the inhabitants of an adjoining
town averted the spread of the pestilence by buying a child of a
gypsy, and burying it alive, which tradition says had the desired
result. There is also a tradition that on the east side of a certain
church in Jutland no one is buried, because a child was buried there
to stay the plague. At another place, two children were purchased of
very poor parents, and were buried alive in a sandhill, to stay the
pestilence then raging in the district. The people gave them some
bread and butter, to induce them to go into the living grave prepared
for them; and when the first spadeful of sand was thrown into the
hole, one of the children cried out, 'Mother, they are throwing sand
on my bread and butter!' Comparing this with the treatment of witches,
or women suspected of witchcraft, at the same epoch, it is not at all
impossible that such senseless and cruel customs prevailed. The
stories of robbers that may be well attributed to the same period have
all a cruel tinge."

"Can you tell us any?" asked Hardy.

"A very great many. One story has been adopted and embellished, and
has appeared in many lands, and it is possible that you may have heard
it, so wide has the same story spread. The story is that a rich man
had an only daughter, and amongst many suitors was a young stranger of
singularly bold manners, and she accepted him with her father's full
consent. But, as it happened, she went out for a walk in a wood near,
and she came to a cave. She was astonished to find that this cave was
inhabited and divided into rooms. There were chairs and a table and
kitchen utensils in the first room, in the second room there was much
old silver plate and costly articles, but in the inner room of all
there were portions of dead bodies. She was terrified, and would have
fled from these horrors, but she heard steps at the entrance of the
cave, and the robbers entered. She hid herself under a bed, and, to
her horror, she saw the man she had promised to marry bring in a
woman, whom he brutally murdered; and as he could not get a gold ring
off that was on her finger, he chopped it off with an axe, with such
violence that it rolled underneath the bed where she was. The robber
could not find it, and gave up the search. At night, the robbers all
departed on a plundering expedition, when she hastened home. She said,
however, nothing of what had happened. The wedding-day was fixed, and
the wedding guests assembled; but when the festivities were at the
highest, she produced the finger of the dead woman, with the ring on
it! The bridegroom turned pale, and, after being put to the torture,
confessed many murders, and was, with his band, executed with the
cruelty then practised; that is, their entrails were cut out by the
executioner, the bodies severed into pieces, and hung up to rot on a
gallows."

"The whole story is a very cruel picture," said Hardy.

"So the stories of robbers all are," said the Pastor. "There is a
story of a robber called Langekniv, or 'long knife.' His practice was
to kill people by casting a heavy knife at them, with a string
attached to it, so that he could possess himself of the knife again
with celerity. He committed many murders. But one day a pedlar was
going across a lonely heath, when he saw Langekniv coming. The pedlar
fell down at first with fright, but afterwards pretended to be nearly
dead from illness; and when Langekniv came up, he said, 'Take my pack
and my money, and fetch a doctor; I am dying.' Langekniv thought that
with a man who could be so easily robbed, it was not necessary to do
more than he was asked; but as soon as he turned to go away, the
pedlar struck him with his staff a blow on the ankle, that disabled
him from running. He then ran for assistance, and Langekniv, after
making it very hot for his captors by casting his long knife, was
seized, and bound, and put in a cart, and was executed. When his
entrails was being cut out by the executioner, he was asked if it
hurt, and Langekniv replied that it was not so bad as the toothache.

"There is one robber story, however, that illustrates the
extraordinary manner in which a clue to a murder can sometimes be
acquired. A pedlar was passing in a lonely hollow of a road on a heath
in Jutland, when two robbers attacked him, and killed him under
circumstances of great cruelty. A flock of wild geese was flying over
head, and the pedlar said the birds of the air shall witness against
you of my murder. Years went by, when, one day, the people were
waiting in the churchyard for the priest to come to service. A flock
of geese was flying overhead, when a horse-dealer from Holstein, a
stranger to the place, said, 'There goes the pedlar's witnesses.'
These words excited attention. The man lost all control over himself,
and confessed the murder."

"A very extraordinary story," said Hardy, "but a very possible one.
But have you not traditions of very supernatural things, as the story
of the Kraken?"

"There is the tradition of the Basilisk, as we call it, and that of
the Lindorm. The legend of the Basilisk is, of course, of classic
origin. It is that when a cock becomes very old, it lays an egg, and
the heat of a dungheap hatches it, and a Basilisk is produced. It is
so hideous a monster, that whoever looks on it can no longer live, but
melts away. It is also said that the Basilisk inhabits wells, and that
it is dangerous to look down a well, as to encounter the gaze of a
Basilisk would be to turn the beholder to stone. There is also another
variation of the legend. The egg when laid by the cock must be hatched
by a toad; but when the Basilisk is hatched, if it be first seen by a
human being, it at once dies, but if the contrary, the beholder dies."

"There is a novel written by Sir Walter Scott," said Hardy, "under the
title of 'Count Robert of Paris' in which he describes the Varanger
guard. It is possible that as such a body of men did exist, that such
legends were brought back by them."

"It may be," said Pastor Lindal; "but in all such matters we may
dogmatize, and be very wide of the mark, although we cannot deny the
possibility."

"But what about the Lindorm?" asked Hardy.

"The Lindorm is a legendary serpent," replied the Pastor. "Your
English story of St. George and the dragon is a contest with a
Lindorm, and we have many variations of the story. The principal
incidents, however, coincide with your English story. One story of a
Lindorm is, that a girl went out to milk her master's cows, and as she
went over the fields she saw a little spotted snake. It appeared so
pretty that she took it home and kept it in a box. Every day she fed
it with milk and what else she could get that it would eat, but it
became at last so large that it could not be kept in the box any
longer. It ran after the girl wherever she went, and drank out of the
milk-pails, as she milked the cows. This the house mother (the
farmer's wife) objected to, and she said the snake should be killed to
prevent further mischief; but the snake was not killed, and further
mischief did occur. It became so big that it was not satisfied with
what was given it, but seized the cattle, one after another, and ate
them. It soon became the terror of the district. A wise woman,
however, advised that a bull calf should be reared with fresh milk and
wheat bread, to destroy the Lindorm. Meanwhile it had attained such a
size, that every day a cow had to be given it, or an old horse, to
prevent its taking the more valuable cattle. When, however, the bull
calf was three years old, it was strong enough to combat the Lindorm,
and killed it; but when the combat took place, the snake struck a
large stone with its tail, and cut thereby a furrow in it, and the
stone is shown to this day as a proof of the legend."

"A very interesting legend," said Hardy. "Are there more?"

"There is a remarkable one," replied Pastor Lindal, "as one of the
legends of the old cathedral at Aarhus. Many years ago, it was
observed that the bodies buried in the churchyard, then belonging to
the cathedral, were taken away, no one knew how. At last, it was
observed that a Lindorm had its habitation under the cathedral, and
came out every night, and devoured the corpses. As it was feared that
not only this would continue, but also that the foundations of the
cathedral might be undermined by the excavations made by the Lindorm,
it was determined to seek means to destroy it. At this time a glazier
came to Aarhus, and when he heard the danger in which the cathedral
was placed, he promised to help the town councillors to get rid of the
Lindorm. He made a box of looking-glass so large that he could himself
go into it, and to which there was only one opening, and which was not
larger than that he could use his sword with effect. He had this box
taken into the cathedral by daylight, and when midnight came he
lighted four wax candles, which he placed in the four corners of the
box. When the Lindorm came up the aisle of the cathedral and saw its
reflection in the looking-glass, it thought that it was another
Lindorm, with whom it could pair, and was so occupied in its
contemplation that the glazier had the opportunity of cutting its
throat with his sword, and it died of the wound thus given. The
poisonous nature of the blood that flowed from the Lindorm, however,
caused the glazier's death."

"That is certainly a striking legend," said Hardy.

"There is also a legend of a Lindorm that encircled a church and
devoured the people as they came out, as it appeared only after their
being in it. It had its head at one entrance and its tail at the
other, and destroyed the people with both. The people then made a hole
in the church wall, through which they escaped. Another legend is that
a Lindorm bathes once a year in a lake, which after has a green film
on it. This, however, you may have observed in the lakes at Silkeborg
this summer, arising from the quantity of weed growth during the
hotter weather."

"I have observed what you mention," said Hardy, "and I should expect
it is not the first time that an ordinary natural occurrence has been
attributed to supernatural causes."

"That applies," said the Pastor, "also to what you call in England
will-o-the-wisp. We call this in Danish, Lygtemænd, or men with
lanterns. The tradition is that they are spirits of wicked people,
particularly of men who have measured land falsely, and so acquired an
advantage over their neighbours. They are supposed to desire to
mislead the traveller, and entice him into bogs and swamps. It is said
that the best means to prevent being thus deceived is to turn one's
hat, so that the back part should come to the front; care, however,
must be taken not to point at a Lygtemænd, as he is then dangerous.
Such is the tradition."

"Your legends, this evening, have been more than usually interesting,
Herr Pastor," said Hardy. "It would appear as if, with such a mass of
legendary lore, you would have men growing up and becoming authors of
the richest fancy."

"Hans Christian Andersen is an instance," said the Pastor, "so is
Ingemann, and, of late, Carl Andersen, the curator of Rosenborg
palace. There are others also. It is no doubt that the human fancy,
when led into extraordinary lines of thought, is influenced to produce
them."

CHAPTER XII.

    "Who hunts, doth oft in danger ride;
    Who hawks, lures oft both far and wide;
    Who uses games, shall often prove
    A loser; but he who falls in love
    Is fettered in fond Cupid's snare.
    My Angle breeds me no such care."
    _The Complete Angler._

An idea had occurred to Godseier Jensen which had filled the mind of
the worthy proprietor and horse breeder. He had discussed the idea
with his neighbours in all its branches, and had appealed to his
paternal Government to assist him. The idea was a horse race, after
the English model. Tentative advertisements appeared in the Danish and
Swedish papers, and the replies in the support of the idea came in
from all sides. A few Swedish noblemen owned race-horses, and they
gave in their adhesion and support. The local horse-breeders and
dealers were eager in its support, and the Government expressed their
intention of assisting, in the hope that it might encourage the
breeding of better class horses.

John Hardy was early consulted in the movement, and heard a great deal
of good advice and well-intentioned talk on the subject of horses and
horse racing in particular. A prominent feature in the idea was
naturally where the races should be held, and on this point John
Hardy, at one time, thought the whole affair would fall through.

A field was, however, found that gave a course round it of one and a
quarter English miles, the soil was light, and the field did not make
the best racing ground; but there was no better to be secured for the
purpose, and the consequence was it was determined on. A grand stand
was erected, and the course staked out, the day fixed, and the entries
for the races were anxiously waited for by Herr Jensen, who acted as
honorary secretary. They at last were able to arrange several flat
races, a hurdle race--the hurdles rather low--a trotting match, a
steeple-chase, and a consolation race. The steeple-chase course was
down a sharpish incline, with a water jump at the bottom, and some
fences specially erected, and about the middle of the course a stone
wall of loose stones. This course was well in view of the grand stand,
as well as from the middle of the flat-race course.

John Hardy was implored by proprietor Jensen to enter Buffalo for the
steeple-chase, but he declined, on the ground that he preferred to
look on, and did not like risking so favourite a horse in a
steeple-chase race. Herr Jensen was in despair; he himself and all his
friends and acquaintances felt more interest in the steeple-chase than
all the rest put together. The only entries for the race were some
horses belonging to a cavalry regiment, but of these there were only
four. The pressure that was brought to bear on Hardy was so great,
that he saw he should give serious offence if he did not let Buffalo
be entered for the steeple-chase. He, however, explained to proprietor
Jensen that his servant, Robert Garth, would ride, but that his orders
would be to ride carefully, avoid the other horses, and not press
Buffalo. Now a fresh difficulty arose. The cavalry horses were entered
by the subalterns of the regiment, who would ride the horses
themselves, and the Englishman was going to send his servant to ride
against them. There was the insular pride and bad taste of the English
exemplified, and, in the end, John Hardy had to ride his own horse,
very much against his will.

The auspicious day dawned, and crowds attended, bearing positive
testimony to the popularity of Herr Jensen's idea.

The Pastor declined to go; he said he thought it was no place for him.
"It is a day of amusement where a black coat and the notion of a
sermon appears out of place."

The Jensens insisted on taking Frøken Helga and her two brothers, who,
since they had heard that Hardy was to ride, were intensely excited.

"I have prayed that you will win, Herr Hardy," said Axel, who was
always a quiet lad in manner, and had become more so since his
acquaintance with Hardy.

"I am going to take care of my good horse, Axel," said Hardy. "I do
not intend to risk his being injured by throwing him down or letting
the other horses get too near, and, besides, I should not like to
win."

"And why not?" said Helga. "I cannot understand a man riding in a race
and not doing his best to win it."

"Your sympathies are with the cavalry officers, and I should please
you best by not winning," said Hardy.

"There is your professed superiority again," retorted Helga; "you say
you are going to let the others win, suggesting that you could win the
race if you chose to do so. I do not believe you can, and think you
are afraid to ride hard. You speak of taking care of your horse, which
means yourself."

John Hardy looked her full in the face, with a stern expression he
sometimes had. What she had said would have galled any man, and Hardy
felt it keenly.

The races began, and were well ridden, and ridden to win. There was no
betting that John Hardy heard of. He and his servant Garth were asked,
on the horses being trotted out, as to the probable winners, which
they were able to indicate from their knowledge of what is and is not
racing condition in a horse, and they were generally correct.

The trotting match was a failure; there were several entries, but only
one horse trotted both heats round the course, the others had not been
trained properly or sufficiently. The hurdle race yielded much
amusement; many horses had entered for that race, and several refused
to jump at all, and there were many falls, to the delight of the
populace, and only three horses went through the race, which was won
by a neck, the three coming well in together.

When the steeple-chase race was prepared for, Garth brought up
Buffalo, looking, as he always did, a grand horse, and amongst the
more horsey of the Danes there was much praise of him. John Hardy
mounted; he had taken off his coat, waistcoat, and braces, and Garth
had tied a blue silk handkerchief on his head. There was a quiet look
of efficiency about John Hardy that was a contrast to the heavy
mustachios cultivated by the cavalry officers and their rather weedy
steeds. There was trouble in getting a start from the restiveness of
one of the cavalry horses and the difficulty his rider experienced in
managing it, but once away they swept down the slope, Buffalo two
horse lengths behind. The water jump reached, the cavalry horses
rushed into it, and Hardy had a difficulty in steering clear of the
floundering men and horses and letting Buffalo fly the water jump. The
water jump had been specially prepared, and was very shallow, and
Danish horses appeared to have considered it was best to gallop
through it. As it was the rule of the race that the jump must be
taken, they were, by that rule, out of the race. They, however, kept
on and rode well, taking the fences and wall, with Buffalo going wide
of them in the rear. When they came to the rising ground again,
corresponding to the slope they had ridden down, the Danish horses
began to show signs of being ridden out of hand, and Buffalo passed
easily in a canter, taking his fences as quietly as if at exercise,
and came in an easy winner. The course had been about four to five
English miles, a little too long, thought Hardy, for the Danish
horses. Proprietor Jensen came forward to congratulate Hardy, and to
thank him for enabling the race to be made interesting to them all.

The prize was a silver cup, but Hardy declined to accept it, to the
astonishment of stout proprietor Jensen and his friends.

"What in the name of the devil's skin and bones does the man mean?"
said Herr Jensen, with some heat. "Why, you have won it, and rode so
well that it has been a pleasure to us all to see you."

"The race has not been a fair one," said Hardy; "my horse has been
specially trained for this sort of work, the horses I rode against
have not, I therefore wish the cup given to the second horse."

The Danish officers pressed Hardy to take the cup, but Hardy was firm.
They spoke to him in that manly way habitual with Danish gentlemen,
and Hardy liked them. They went up to Buffalo, which Robert Garth was
leading up and down to cool; and Hardy induced one of the officers to
try Buffalo at one of the small fences erected for the hurdle race;
and when he came back, the Danish cavalry officer said, "Why, you
could have ridden away from us from the first!"

"No doubt," said Hardy.

"And you did not, because you did not wish to let the race appear a
hollow one," said the officer, "and it would disappoint so many."

"I only entered my horse for the race," said Hardy, "under great
pressure, not until I saw I should give offence to Godseier Jensen and
many others who have been kind to me. They wanted to see my horse
race. I intended to have let my servant ride, but when I heard I
should have to ride against Danish gentlemen, I rode myself."

"What a charger he would make!" said one of the cavalry officers.

"He is too light in bone," said Hardy. "I am an officer in the
yeomanry cavalry of my country, and use a bigger framed horse as a
charger."

"We will take the cup because it is your wish, Herr Hardy," said the
officer, "but you must come and dine with some of us to-morrow, and
bring your horse, and let the other men of our regiment see it. We are
much obliged to you. You have taught us what we have heard of, and
that is a hunting-seat. Cavalry men cannot go well across country,
riding, as we do, with a cavalry seat. We dine at three. Ask for Baron
Jarlsberg."

Hardy accepted, and went up to the grand stand where Fru Jensen and
her daughters were and Frøken Helga Lindal. He had changed his clothes
for a black morning coat and tweed trousers. The last race was being
ran.

"Herr Jensen has sent me to see you to your carriage, Fru Jensen,"
said Hardy; "he is much occupied with his duties of honorary
secretary, and settling the usual disputes that arise."

"And was that you with a blue handkerchief round your head and nothing
on but a flannel shirt?" asked Fru Jensen.

"Yes," said Hardy; "but I had other garments on than a flannel shirt."

"Of course," said Fru Jensen, "of course; but if I were your mother, I
should be afraid of your catching cold."

"But when, Fru Jensen, we ride a race, we have to be dressed for it,
and the less clothes we have the better."

"And you have won the race, I hear," said Fru Jensen; "but I did not
know who won, and I see it is a silver cup. It will be something to
take back to England. Your father, Helga, will be glad to hear Herr
Hardy is to have a silver cup."

Helga had perception enough to see that she had wounded Hardy in the
early part of the day and that he had not forgotten it. He said
nothing to her, but gave Fru Jensen his arm, and conducted them to the
Jensen's carriage, a heavy four-wheeled conveyance, arranged to carry
eight, by seats placed one after the other in a sort of four-wheeled
dogcart with a long body.

It had been a great desire of proprietor Jensen to have a dinner of a
public character after the races, but this it was found not
practicable to carry out within anything like a reasonable hour,
according to Danish notions, and the consequence was Herr Jensen had
to content himself with asking as many of his own friends and his
friends' friends as he could to his own Herregaard. He was in the best
possible humour. The races had gone off without a hitch, and every one
had congratulated him. He had been told he had made a great hit with
his Englishman, as the officers of the Danish cavalry regiment were
delighted with him. It was, however, positively necessary that the
worthy proprietor should return home to receive his friends.

"Where is the Englishman?" he inquired, as he came to the carriage.

"Here," said Hardy. "The ladies are waiting for you, and the carriage
is ready to start."

John Hardy was going to sit by the side of one of Herr Jensen's
daughters, but he would not have it. The proprietor must talk over the
races with Hardy, and he did, so volubly that Hardy could scarcely
understand him. "I never saw anything so smart as the way you took
those fences after passing the other horses! It was grand to see your
horse going easily over about a foot above them; and the way you came
in past the judges was splendid. I must say I did not like your
refusal to take the prize; it was only a cup that cost us about £5 of
your money, but it was the prize for all that, and was well won. If it
was the smallness of its value," said the worthy proprietor, carried
away by his enthusiasm, "I would give you a dozen such. They lost the
race at once by not taking the water jump and galloping their horses
through it without jumping it. I saw you were in a difficulty, but the
way you held your horse and took the water jump was good. I did like
the way also in which you spoke to the cavalry officers and letting
one of them ride your horse over one of the hurdle jumps, and so let
him see that they had been nowhere, and that you could have beaten
them at any point of the race. After all, I think you were right to
give up the cup with such a superior horse, but very few men would
have done it, but the way you did it is what has made such a good
impression. Come and stay with me as long as you like! There is a
little river through my property with trout in it, you may catch them
all if you like."

"Thank you, Herr Jensen," said Hardy, "but I return to England
shortly. I will, however, come over, with your permission, and fish
your river, which is a little tributary to the Gudenaa, and I hear has
some good trout in it. We have not liked to ask your leave, because
you might have other friends for whom you would wish to reserve the
fishing."

"If I had," said the proprietor, "I would give it you; nothing would
give me greater pleasure than to return your kindness to me. You gave
up your own wishes about the racing only to oblige me; you did not
wish to ride or risk your horse, but you did it to oblige me."

"Thank you very much," said Hardy. "May I take Pastor Lindal's two
sons, Karl and Axel, with me to fish? They will not depopulate the
stream."

"You may take anybody," said Herr Jensen, warmly.

Frøken Helga heard this conversation, and it showed her how
differently Hardy had acted from what she had suggested to him in the
morning before the races. Herr Jensen's unqualified praise had let her
see how good Hardy had been, and how considerate for others, and she
had accused him of being a coward and only caring for himself.

When they came to proprietor Jensen's Herregaard, Hardy jumped out of
the carriage, and assisted Fru Jensen and her daughters out, but to
Frøken Helga Lindal he only extended his arm, so that she might rest
her hand on it on her descending from the carriage. She would have
spoken, but Hardy was gone.

The dinner at proprietor Jensen's was a very lively affair. Early in
the dinner he proposed the Englishman's health, and Hardy responded
briefly; and then came many other toasts, and the ultimate conclusion
was there was nothing like horse-racing, and as the evening wore on,
so did the fogginess of the subject. Hardy had sent Garth to his
stables with Buffalo after the race, and told him to fetch them at
Herr Jensen's Herregaard at an early hour with the carriage, and Hardy
drove himself, talking to Garth, who sat beside him. Karl and Axel had
preferred to stay to see the last festivities of the races and to walk
home, consequently Frøken Helga sat by herself in the carriage, and
Hardy, after seeing her safely in and well cared for, did not address
a word to her. They drove to the parsonage, and Hardy drove to the
stables with Garth, to see Buffalo after his extra work that day, and
Hardy walked back.

The Pastor was smoking his pipe, listening to the events of the day as
described by Karl and Axel. "You won your race. Hardy," said Pastor
Lindal; "and the boys say easily."

"Yes, I won the race I rode," said Hardy.

"And, father, he would not take the cup, that is the prize he won; he
said his horse was a better horse, and gave it to the man who came in
second, and a long way behind he was," said Karl.

Frøken Helga knitted, but did not look up.

"And did you not see the race, Helga?"

"Yes, father," said Helga; "and I saw Herr Hardy win it."

"But what is the matter, Helga?" asked her father, with some hardness.

"Father, I have been wrong," said Helga. "Herr Hardy said he did not
wish to risk his horse, and that he did not wish to win the race, but
that he could easily if he chose. I did not like his professing to be
so superior over us Danes, and I told him so, and that he was afraid
to ride his horse, and that he knew he would not win. I now know that
what he said was quite true, and that he has behaved well."

"You should have heard how they cheered him when he came in," said
Karl.

"I do think, Helga, if you made so insulting a speech to Herr Hardy,"
said the Pastor, with some asperity, "that it should be withdrawn. To
tell a man that he is a coward and has false pride is too galling, and
when not a single ground for it exists the more so. You might thereby
have tempted him to risk his life, to say nothing of his horse."

Helga burst into tears.

Hardy rose and held out his hand to her. "I hope," he said, "you will
think no more of this; I shall not. Your saying what you have to your
father is enough for me. I do hope you will believe me when I say that
after so frank an admission that I shall only respect the strong
national feeling that prompted you. I admit a Danish gentleman can do
all I can and possibly more."

"You are a gentleman, Hardy," said the Pastor.

Helga took Hardy's hand coldly, and left the room. She had made a
mistake and had atoned, that was all.

The next day Hardy rode Buffalo, attended by Garth on one of the
Danish horses, to the quarters of the cavalry regiment, and was
received with much kindness. A dinner had been arranged at a hotel
near, and the men and officers of the regiment regarded Buffalo with
much interest. One after the other asked leave to mount him and ride
him a short distance over a bit of grass adjoining the cavalry
barracks. Hardy let them inspect the horse to their hearts' content.
His winning the race so easily the day before had its special value.
Hardy's knowledge of cavalry accoutrements and horses was another
point of common interest. He rode several of the best horses of the
regiment, but preferred changing their heavy military bridles to his
own light snaffle, and the effect was marked, and was noted by the
cavalry officers.

At dinner, the cup of the day before was produced, and Hardy had to
drink out of it.

"It is your cup and fairly won, but we appreciate the feeling that
gives it to us," said Baron Jarlsberg, "and we shall keep it in the
regiment as a memento of an English horse beating the best horses in a
Danish cavalry regiment."

Hardy rode to the parsonage, after a very pleasant time, with many
expressions of good feeling from the Danish officers.

CHAPTER XIII.

    "These are to be angled for with a short line not
    much more than half the length of your rod, if the air be
    still, or with longer very near, or all out as long as your
    rod, if you have any wind to carry it from you."
    --_The Complete Angler._

Two days after the horse race recorded in the last chapter, John Hardy
had asked the Pastor's permission to take Karl and Axel with him to
fish Godseier Jensen's tributary to the Gudenaa. They had breakfast
early, and Hardy asked for a little lunch to take with them, to which
the Pastor willingly assented.

"Hardy," said the Pastor, "may I ask you one thing, and that is, have
you spoken to Kirstin about what I told you?"

"No," replied Hardy. "Why should I? There is nothing that is necessary
for me to say. She is your servant and not mine. If she be suspicious
naturally and accuses me of gross misconduct, it is not for me to
reprove her, although, if you believed it, I should clear myself, as I
value your good opinion. Surely that is not necessary?"

"No, by no means," said Pastor Lindal; "but I thought a reproof from
you----"

"You have given her reproof sufficient," interrupted Hardy, "and so
have I, and there is no need to repeat it. It is true, I spoke to her
without full knowledge of her conduct, but to say more is neither
necessary nor expedient."

The Pastor was surprised at the decided tone Hardy used. It had been
his intention to clear the matter up, so that nothing should rest in
Hardy's mind against Kirstin. He now understood that Hardy thought no
more of the matter than that a woman-servant in his employ had said a
foolish thing. This was a small matter, but it raised Hardy much in
the worthy Pastor's estimation.

Hardy had sent a note to proprietor Jensen, to say he was coming over
to fish on his property, and to ask leave to put his horses in his
stable. So Garth drove, and they got out of the carriage near the
stream they were to fish, and Karl and Axel were soon busy in putting
up the rods Hardy had given them. The stream ran through a flat
meadow, and here and there was covered with reeds. There was little
flow in the stream, but where it was deeper there were no reeds. The
water rush was abundant on the banks, growing along the flat banks and
out in the water. Hardy had heard there were plenty of trout there,
but it appeared difficult to catch them. The day was warm and still,
and it did not look at all propitious. Karl and Axel threw their flies
into the water for a long time with no result--not a trout moved.
Hardy did not fish, but looked on. It was clear the trout were not on
the feed, and, moreover, the sun was high and the day bright. Hardy
sat down and smoked. The two boys came back to him after their futile
attempts to fish. They saw Hardy had not wetted his line, but had
attached a dyed casting line to it, on which was a large but light
thin wired hook. He then sent the boys hunting for grasshoppers and
fernwebs, and letting out so much of the reel line as, with the
casting line, would be as long as his rod, he let the grasshopper that
he had put on the hook fall lightly on the water, and be carried down
by the sluggish stream; there was a swirl in the water, and Hardy was
fast in a big trout. The day, however, was so hot and bright that,
after catching eight trout with much difficulty and steady fishing,
Hardy decided to call at the Jensen's Herregaard, and give them the
fish he had caught, and fish in the evening, when the sun was less
powerful. The heat, as it sometimes is in Denmark, was excessive. He
had been seen coming up the avenue of lime trees, and the stout
proprietor came out to meet him, with his face full of pleasure and
kindness, for he liked John Hardy.

"Welcome, and glad to see you!" exclaimed Herr Jensen. "It is too hot
and bright for fishing, and you have been wise to come up to the
house. I thought it probable that you would not fish much, and I
remained at home in the hope you might call."

"We have caught a few trout for you," said Hardy; "but the heat in
your flat country such a day as this is more than I care to bear. Your
trout are larger on the average than in the Gudenaa, and are splendid
fish. I have fished in many lands, and never saw better. The few fish
we have caught to-day average a pound, but they are very young fish,
and I never saw fish the same age so large."

"How can you tell how old they are?" asked Herr Jensen, incredulously.

"Why, you look at a horse's mouth, don't you? and it is the same with
trout," replied Hardy; "that is, to some extent. The teeth get larger
at the base, the jaw bone thickens with age, and the snout gets
longer. I have often seen trout that have been reared from ova, and
whose age was consequently known, and have closely observed their
mouths. The fish in your stream grow fast from the great abundance of
the food that trout thrive best on."

"But come in out of the heat," said Herr Jensen, "and have a snaps or
a glass of wine. My friends who come here to fish rarely catch so many
trout in a whole day's fishing; and that when they consider the
weather favourable; but you English appear to be born with a rod and a
gun."

Karl and Axel proposed going with Robert Garth to see the proprietor's
horses and live stock, and, as they knew a little English, they got on
very well with Garth, whom they considered a paragon of a servant. His
respectful demeanour towards Hardy impressed them, and the way he did
his work about the horses was always a matter of interest.

Hardy went into the proprietor's spacious reception room, which was
well but plainly furnished, with its aspect of neatness so dear to a
Danish house mother.

Fru Jensen and her two daughters were knitting, but rose to welcome
Hardy, with the genial friendliness habitual with Danish ladies. They
insisted on his staying to dinner, but Hardy objected, as he had Karl
and Axel with him as well as his servant; but all objections were
futile, and Fru Jensen left the room, to give the necessary directions
for a very substantial dinner.

Mathilde Jensen was about two and twenty, with a fresh complexion,
blue eyes, and light hair, and a cheerful manner. "How is your
beautiful horse, Herr Hardy?" she asked.

"Quite fit to run another race," replied Hardy. "But do not you Danish
ladies ride?"

"Yes. We have each our own horse, and we often ride with father and by
ourselves short distances," said Frøken Mathilde; "but they are not
such good horses as those you have purchased in Denmark."

"They are never satisfied with their horses," said the proprietor;
"they are always wanting me to buy a horse of a different colour than
what they have got--first it's chesnut, and then dark bay."

"Would you like to ride one of my Danish horses?" said Hardy. "They
have been frequently ridden."

"No, no; don't go putting that in their heads, Herr Hardy!" protested
the proprietor. "They never had a petticoat on their backs."

"If Frøken Mathilde would lend her side saddle and an old skirt, my
man shall try both the horses, while we are here," said Hardy. "I have
no lady's saddle here, but from what I know of the horses there is no
doubt but that they will carry a lady quietly, and better backs for a
lady I have seldom seen."

Proprietor Jensen's desire to see an English groom, whom he saw
understood his business, handling his favourite animal, a horse,
overcame whatever scruples he may have had as to its leading to his
daughters riding Hardy's horses, and in a few minutes one of the
horses was mounted by Garth, with a skirt tied to his waist, and the
horse trotted and cantered up and down the avenue. The other horse was
also tried. The English groom's perfect riding was much praised by the
proprietor.

"Do let me ride, father, just once up and down," begged Frøken
Mathilde; and before her father could object, she had slipped the
skirt that Garth had just untied from his waist over her dress and
mounted, with Garth's assistance.

It was a pretty sight to see the handsome girl's enjoyment of riding
the well-trained horse, as she rode up to where her father and mother
and Hardy were standing.

"Oh, father!" she exclaimed, "you must get me a horse like this, or I
shall die, I know I shall;" and she went up and kissed her father in a
coaxing manner.

"What nonsense!" said the prudent Fru Jensen. "One horse is as good as
another for you."

"Well, well, we'll see," growled the proprietor, but pleased,
nevertheless, to see his daughter, like himself, fond of horses.

At dinner the conversation turned on Rosendal, which the Jensens had
heard Hardy had purchased.

"It is a pretty place," said the proprietor, "but the farm is not
much. But why did you buy it? It cannot be as a speculation, as the
price is excessive."

"He intends to marry Helga Lindal and live there so that she will not
be too far from her father, to whom she is so much attached," said
Mathilde Jensen, laughing. "I can explain it all for him."

"Thank you, for disposing of my affairs so nicely," said Hardy; "you
have saved me a good deal of explanation."

"Yes, but Pastor Lindal's daughter is going to marry the Kapellan
(curate) he once had, a Kapellan Holm. She refused him, but her father
wishes it, as Holm is a good man," said Fru Jensen.

"In Denmark, you must know," said the proprietor, "that it is the
custom for a Pastor's daughter always to marry the Kapellan."

Hardy understood now the secret of Frøken Helga Lindal's manner. She
was attached to this Kapellan Holm.

"But what are you going to do with Rosendal?" asked Herr Jensen. "It
is a matter of interest to us; it is not far, and we should like such
a neighbour as Herr Hardy."

"The first thing I intend to do is to improve the grounds and repair
the house, but I do not contemplate making much alteration."

"I should so like to see Rosendal!" said Mathilde Jensen; and her
younger sister, Marie Jensen, expressed the same wish.

"Why, you have seen it again and again," said their mother. "You want
Herr Hardy to take you."

"So we do, little mother," said both the girls, "and we want him to
let us ride his horses."

"Snak!" said their father. The Danish word "snak" has its peculiar
expressive force, its meaning in English being that nonsense is being
talked.

"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 Frøken 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 Frøken 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 Frøken 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 Frøken
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 Frøken Jensens want to ride Herr Hardy's
horses."

Helga had returned, and heard what Karl said.

"Frøken 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 Frøken 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 Frøken 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 Frøken Mathilde suggested.

"No doubt your mother will do everything," said Frøken 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 Frøken 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 Frøken 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 Præstegaard, 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.

Frøken 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 Frøken 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._

Frøken 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
Ringkiøbing, 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 Bønder 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 Bønder
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 Bønder,
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--

    'Hør 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 Hyldemøer, 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 Hyldemøer 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 Hyldemøer?" 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 Frøken Helga.

"You are right, Frøken," 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, Frøken," 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._

Frøken 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, Frøken 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 Frøken 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 Frøken 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, Frøken 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 Frøken 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 Lørdag 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 Kjærlighed
    Hvor Kjærlighed 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 Frøken 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 Frøken 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 Nøkken."

"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 Mænd 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 'Dværg,' as applied to supernatural beings.

"Dværg is dwarf in Danish," replied the Pastor; "but there are many
stories of them, and in a superstitious sense. Dværg 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 Dværg and Underjordiske.
The most striking story of a Dværg is that in the Danish family Bille,
who have a Dværg 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 Dværg 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 Dværg. 'It is no use my telling you' said Bille; 'you cannot
help me.' The Dværg 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 Dværg 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
Sjælland."

"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 Sjælland. 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 Dværg," 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, Frøken," 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. Frøken 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 Præstegaard 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, Frøken, 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 Hjælpe-præst 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,
Frøken, 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, "Frøken 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 Kæmpehøi 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 Sø, 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 Smør-brød (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 Frøken 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,