"No, that is impossible," replied the old grandfather; "but I have
seen it, and I have tried to carve it in wood, as I have retained it
in my memory. It was a long time ago, while the English fleet lay in
the roads, on the second of April, when we showed that we were true,
ancient Danes. I was on board the Denmark, in Steene Bille's squadron;
I had a man by my side whom even the cannon balls seemed to fear. He
sung old songs in a merry voice, and fired and fought as if he were
something more than a man. I still remember his face, but from
whence he came, or whither he went, I know not; no one knows. I have
often thought it might have been Holger Danske himself, who had swam
down to us from Kronenburg to help us in the hour of danger. That
was my idea, and there stands his likeness."

The wooden figure threw a gigantic shadow on the wall, and even on
part of the ceiling; it seemed as if the real Holger Danske stood
behind it, for the shadow moved; but this was no doubt caused by the
flame of the lamp not burning steadily. Then the daughter-in-law
kissed the old grandfather, and led him to a large arm-chair by the
table; and she, and her husband, who was the son of the old man and
the father of the little boy who lay in bed, sat down to supper with
him. And the old grandfather talked of the Danish lions and the Danish
hearts, emblems of strength and gentleness, and explained quite
clearly that there is another strength than that which lies in a
sword, and he pointed to a shelf where lay a number of old books,
and amongst them a collection of Holberg's plays, which are much
read and are so clever and amusing that it is easy to fancy we have
known the people of those days, who are described in them.

"He knew how to fight also," said the old man; "for he lashed
the follies and prejudices of people during his whole life."

Then the grandfather nodded to a place above the looking-glass,
where hung an almanac, with a representation of the Round Tower upon
it, and said "Tycho Brahe was another of those who used a sword, but
not one to cut into the flesh and bone, but to make the way of the
stars of heaven clear, and plain to be understood. And then he whose
father belonged to my calling,--yes, he, the son of the old
image-carver, he whom we ourselves have seen, with his silvery locks
and his broad shoulders, whose name is known in all lands;--yes, he
was a sculptor, while I am only a carver. Holger Danske can appear
in mar