n,"
said Helga.

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

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

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

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

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

"No," said Helga, involuntarily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The dinner was well served, and much praised by Pastor Lindal, who of
course had a legend to relate, of Holger Danske, whose sword was
buried with him near Horsens. The sword was so heavy that, when it was
taken from the Kaempehoi, or tumulus, twelve horses could not draw it.
The walls of the house in which it was placed shook, and so much
unhappiness occurred that the sword was restored to its resting place
in the tumulus, and on its return journey two horses could draw it
easily. Holger Danske was so big a man, that when he had a suit of
clothes