ble, so that people in all countries of the world may hear of
the strength of Denmark. Now let us drink the health of Bertel."

But the little boy in bed saw plainly the old castle of
Kronenburg, and the Sound of Elsinore, and Holger Danske, far down
in the cellar, with his beard rooted to the table, and dreaming of
everything that was passing above him.

And Holger Danske did dream of the little humble room in which the
image-carver sat; he heard all that had been said, and he nodded in
his dream, saying, "Ah, yes, remember me, you Danish people, keep me
in your memory, I will come to you in the hour of need."

The bright morning light shone over Kronenburg, and the wind
brought the sound of the hunting-horn across from the neighboring
shores. The ships sailed by and saluted the castle with the boom of
the cannon, and Kronenburg returned the salute, "Boom, boom." But
the roaring cannons did not awake Holger Danske, for they meant only
"Good morning," and "Thank you." They must fire in another fashion
before he awakes; but wake he will, for there is energy yet in
Holger Danske.

IB AND LITTLE CHRISTINA

In the forest that extends from the banks of the Gudenau, in North
Jutland, a long way into the country, and not far from the clear
stream, rises a great ridge of land, which stretches through the
wood like a wall. Westward of this ridge, and not far from the
river, stands a farmhouse, surrounded by such poor land that the sandy
soil shows itself between the scanty ears of rye and wheat which
grow in it. Some years have passed since the people who lived here
cultivated these fields; they kept three sheep, a pig, and two oxen;
in fact they maintained themselves very well, they had quite enough to
live upon, as people generally have who are content with their lot.
They even could have afforded to keep two horses, but it was a
saying among the farmers in those parts, "The horse eats himself
up;" that is to say, he eats as much as he earns. Jeppe Jans
cultivated his fields in summer, and in the winter he made wooden
shoes. He also had an assistant, a lad who understood as well as he
himself did how to make wooden shoes strong, but light, and in the
fashion. They carved shoes and spoons, which paid well; therefore no
one could justly call Jeppe Jans and his family poor people. Little
Ib, a boy of seven years old and the only child, would sit by,
watching the workmen, or cutting a stick, and sometimes his finger
i