wn, excepting the clothes they wore. Yes, there was one thing
more, an alchymist's glass, a new one, which had been lately bought,
and filled with what could be gathered from the ground of the treasure
which had promised so much but failed in keeping its promise. Waldemar
Daa hid the glass in his bosom, and, taking his stick in his hand, the
once rich gentleman passed with his daughters out of the house of
Borreby. I blew coldly upon his flustered cheeks, I stroked his gray
beard and his long white hair, and I sang as well as I was able,
'Whir-r-r, whir-r-r. Gone away! Gone away!' Ida walked on one side
of the old man, and Anna Dorothea on the other; Joanna turned round,
as they left the entrance. Why? Fortune would not turn because she
turned. She looked at the stone in the walls which had once formed
part of the castle of Marck Stig, and perhaps she thought of his
daughters and of the old song,--

"The eldest and youngest, hand-in-hand,
Went forth alone to a distant land."

These were only two; here there were three, and their father with them
also. They walked along the high-road, where once they had driven in
their splendid carriage; they went forth with their father as beggars.
They wandered across an open field to a mud hut, which they rented for
a dollar and a half a year, a new home, with bare walls and empty
cupboards. Crows and magpies fluttered about them, and cried, as if in
contempt, 'Caw, caw, turned out of our nest--caw, caw,' as they had
done in the wood at Borreby, when the trees were felled. Daa and his
daughters could not help hearing it, so I blew about their ears to
drown the noise; what use was it that they should listen? So they went
to live in the mud hut in the open field, and I wandered away, over
moor and meadow, through bare bushes and leafless forests, to the open
sea, to the broad shores in other lands, 'Whir-r-r, whir-r-r! Away,
away!' year after year."

And what became of Waldemar Daa and his daughters? Listen; the
Wind will tell us:

"The last I saw of them was the pale hyacinth, Anna Dorothea. She
was old and bent then; for fifty years had passed and she had outlived
them all. She could relate the history. Yonder, on the heath, near the
town of Wiborg, in Jutland, stood the fine new house of the canon. It
was built of red brick, with projecting gables. It was inhabited, for
the smoke curled up thickly from the chimneys. The canon's gentle lady
and her beautiful daughters sat in