"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 troutmoved. 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 aservant. 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 sherode 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 homealone, 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 correctlywhat 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 anda 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.
"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 fashionIs 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 storythat 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 anotherstory 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 thesea 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 avoice 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 thePastor. "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 thepeople 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.
"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 histhings 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 thekindest 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 yourunfair 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 littleroom 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 thePinus Montanabeing 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 Rosendalto-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—