among the wealthy, the humble home of the Kingos somehow managed to
survive. Beneath its roof industry and frugality worked hand in hand with
piety and mutual love to brave the storms that wrecked so many and
apparently far stronger establishments. Kingo always speaks with the
greatest respect and gratitude of his "poor but honest parents". In a
poetic description of his childhood years he vividly recalls their
indulgent kindness to him.

I took my pilgrim staff in hand
Ere I attempted talking;
I had scarce left my swaddling-band
Before they set me walking.
They coached me onward with a smile
And suited me when tearful.
One step was farther than a mile,
For I was small and fearful.

But discipline was not forgotten. Parents in those days usually kept the
rod close to the apple, often too close. And Kingo's parents, despite
their kindness, made no exception to the rule. He was a lively,
headstrong boy in need of a firm hand, and the hand was not wanting.

As a child my daily bread
I with rod and penance had,

he wrote later, adding that the fruits of that chastisement are now sweet
to him. Nor do his parents ever appear to have treated him with the cold,
almost loveless austerity that so many elders frequently felt it their
duty to adopt toward their children. Their discipline was tempered by
kindness and an earnest Christian faith. Although Hans Kingo seems to
some extent to have been influenced by the strict Presbyterianism of his
Scotch forebears, he does not appear, like so many followers of that
stern faith, to have taught his children to believe in God as the strict
judge rather than as the loving Father of Jesus Christ. In his later
years the son at least gives us an attractive picture of his childhood
faith:

I gratefully remember
God's loving care for me
Since from my nursery chamber
I toddled fearfully.
I lived contented in His care
And trusted in His children's prayer.

These bright years of his happy childhood were somewhat darkened,
however, when, at the age of six, he entered the Danish and, two years
later, the Latin school of his home town. Nothing could be more unsuited
for a child of tender years than the average school of those days. The
curriculum was meager, the teaching poor and the discipline cruel. Every
day saw its whipping scenes. For a day's unexplained absence the
punishment for the smaller boys was three