Chapter 43 - Page 2

had the room heated with cinnamon chips. Much may be found about this remarkable man in the second collection of Thiele's Popular Danish Legends. His descendants still live in Odense, namely, the family of the printer Ch. Iversen, who has preserved many curiosities which belonged to him.]

It was an afternoon in the summer of 1810; the water was high in the brook, yet two washerwomen were busily employed in it; reed-matting was fast bound round their bodies, and they beat with wooden staves the clothes upon their washing-stools. They were in deep conversation, and yet their labor went on uninterruptedly.

"Yes," said one of them, "better a little with honor, than much with dishonor. She is sentenced; to-morrow she is to go about in the pillory. That is sure and certain! I know it from the trumpeter's Karen, and from the beggar-king's [Author's Note: Overseer of the poor.] wife: neither of them go about with lies."

"Ih, my Jesus!" exclaimed the other, and let her wooden beater fall, "is Johanne Marie to go in the pillory, the handsome girl? she that looked so clever and dressed herself so well?"

"Yes, it is a misfortune!" said the first; "a great misfortune it must be! No, let every one keep his own! say I every day to my children. After the sweet claw comes the bitter smart. One had much better work till the blood starts from the finger-ends."

"Ih, see though!" said the other; "there goes the old fellow, Johanne Marie's father. He is an honest man; he was so pleased with his daughter, and to-morrow he must himself bind her to the pillory! But can she really have stolen?"

"She has herself confessed," returned she; "and the Colonel is severe. I fancy the Gevaldiger is going there."

"The Colonel should put the bridle on his own son. He is a bad fellow! Not long ago, when I was washing yarn there, and was merry, as I always am, he called me 'wench.' If he had said 'woman,' I should not have troubled myself about it, for it has another meaning; but 'wench,' that is rude! Ei, there sails the whole affair!" screamed she suddenly, as the sheet which she had wound round the washing-stool got loose and floated down the stream: she ran after it, and the conversation was broken off.

The old man whom they had seen and compassionated, went into a great house close by, where the Colonel lived. His eyes were cast upon the ground; a deep, silent suffering lay in his wrinkled face; he gently pulled at the bell, and bowed himself deeply before the black-appareled lady who opened to him the door.

We know her--it was the old Rosalie, then twenty years younger than when we saw her upon the western coast of Jutland.

"Good old man!" said she, and laid her hand kindly on his shoulder. "Colonel Thostrup is severe, but he is not, however,