g from the woods at the farm of Dollahn found
ourselves heading straight for the Jasmunder Bodden. But it did not
matter where we went so long as we were pleased, and when everything is
fresh and new how can you help being pleased? So we drove on looking for
a road to the right that should bring us back again to the Schmale
Heide, and enjoyed the open fields and the bright morning, and pretended
to ourselves that it was not dusty. At least that is what I pretended to
myself. Charlotte pretended nothing of the sort; on the contrary, she
declared at intervals that grew shorter that she was being suffocated.

And that is one of the many points on which the walker has the advantage
of him who drives--he can walk on the grass at the side of the road, or
over moss or whortleberries, and need not endure the dust kicked up by
eight hoofs. But where has he not the advantage? The only one of driving
is that you can take a great many clean clothes with you; for the rest,
there is no comparing the two pleasures. And, after all, what does it
matter if for one fortnight out of all the fortnights there are in a
year you are not so clean as usual? Indeed, I think there must be a
quite peculiar charm for the habitually well-washed in being for a short
time deliberately dirty.

At Lubkow, a small village on the Jasmunder Bodden, we got on to the
high road to Bergen, and turning up it to the right faced northwards
once more. Soon after passing a forestry in the woods we reached the
Schmale Heide again, and then for four miles drove along a white road
between young pines, the bluest of skies overhead, and on our right,
level with the road, the violet sea. This was the first time I saw the
Baltic really violet. On other days it had been a deep blue or a
brilliant green, but here it was a wonderful, dazzling violet.

At Neu Mucran--all these places are on the map--we left the high road to
go on by itself up to the inland town of Sagard, and plunged into sandy,
shadeless country roads, trying to keep as near the shore as possible.
The rest of the way to Sassnitz was too unmitigatedly glaring and dusty
to be pleasant. There were no trees at all; and as it was uphill nearly
the whole way we had time to be thoroughly scorched and blinded. Nor
could we keep near the sea. The road took us farther and farther away
from it as we toiled slowly up between cornfields, crammed on that poor
soil with poppies and marguerites and chickory. Earth and sky w