ndow in the hut, only
a hole in the wall; and the sun rose like a globe of burnished gold,
and looked through. With what splendor he filled that dismal dwelling!
Her eyes were glazing, and her heart breaking; but so it would have
been, even had the sun not shone that morning on Anna Dorothea. The
stork's nest had secured her a home till her death. I sung over her
grave; I sung at her father's grave. I know where it lies, and where
her grave is too, but nobody else knows it.

"New times now; all is changed. The old high-road is lost amid
cultivated fields; the new one now winds along over covered graves;
and soon the railway will come, with its train of carriages, and
rush over graves where lie those whose very names are forgoten. All
passed away, passed away!

"This is the story of Waldemar Daa and his daughters. Tell it
better, any of you, if you know how," said the Wind; and he rushed
away, and was gone.

THE WINDMILL

A windmill stood upon the hill, proud to look at, and it was proud
too.

"I am not proud at all," it said, "but I am very much
enlightened without and within. I have sun and moon for my outward
use, and for inward use too; and into the bargain I have stearine
candles, train oil and lamps, and tallow candles. I may well say
that I'm enlightened. I'm a thinking being, and so well constructed
that it's quite delightful. I have a good windpipe in my chest, and
I have four wings that are placed outside my head, just beneath my
hat. The birds have only two wings, and are obliged to carry them on
their backs. I am a Dutchman by birth, that may be seen by my
figure--a flying Dutchman. They are considered supernatural beings,
I know, and yet I am quite natural. I have a gallery round my chest,
and house-room beneath it; that's where my thoughts dwell. My
strongest thought, who rules and reigns, is called by others 'The
Man in the Mill.' He knows what he wants, and is lord over the meal
and the bran; but he has his companion, too, and she calls herself
'Mother.' She is the very heart of me. She does not run about stupidly
and awkwardly, for she knows what she wants, she knows what she can
do, she's as soft as a zephyr and as strong as a storm; she knows
how to begin a thing carefully, and to have her own way. She is my
soft temper, and the father is my hard one. They are two, and yet one;
they each call the other 'My half.' These two have some little boys,
young thoughts, that can grow. The little o