"Your traditions of witches," said Hardy, "appear to be similar to ours. You appear to have burnt and thrown them into ponds to drown after the same cruel custom as in England."

"True," replied the Pastor, "and the description in Macbeth of witches answers to our traditions. On St. John's night witches were supposed to fly to Bloksberg, a mythical place in Norway, upon broomsticks and in brewing tubs. There they met Gamle Erik, the evil one, who entered their names in his ledger, and instructed them in witchcraft, and, after executing the witches' dance, they returned to their respective homes in the same fashion. This tradition is common to other countries, but in Jutland the belief was that the favourite form a witch adopted was that of a hare, which evaded the huntsmen, and could not be shot except by a piece of silver, which must have been inherited--a piece of silver purchased or given had no effect. The witch was then found in the person of some old woman with a wound, who was forthwith dealt with in the cruel fashion then the rule. The gypsies, or, as they are called with us, Tatarfolk, from their eastern origin, drove a good business by professing to cure the effects of witchcraft; they generally managed to cause the ill effect, however, before they cured it. They would give a drug to a farmer's cow, and call a few days after and offer to drive away the witch that possessed the cow. They would take with them a black furry doll tied to a string. A hole was dug several feet deep in the cowhouse; suddenly the black furry thing was at the bottom of the hole, just sufficient for some of the people to see it when it disappeared. That was the witch; the cow was, of course, cured by an antidote."

"The gypsy is common enough in England," said Hardy; "but they do less in telling fortunes or in thieving farmyards then formerly was their custom. They appear to do a good business in small wares, as brushes and mats, which they take about in vans."

"The gypsy," said the Pastor, "where superst.i.tion exists, trade upon it, and in old times in Denmark this brought them a rich harvest. They persuaded the farmers' wives that they must have inherited silver, or they could do nothing against evil influences, and acquired thereby many an old-fashioned heirloom. With us they have never pursued, as you suggest, a steady trade."

"Have you not a tradition of a book called Cypria.n.u.s?" asked Hardy.

"The idea of the book is from the Sibyll's books of Roman history,"

replied Pastor Lindal. "The contents of Cypria.n.u.s is very differently described. It is related of it that it is a book of prophecy of material events, that is not in a religious sense. Also, it is described as containing formula for raising the devil, or a number of small devils, who immediately demand work to do, and whom it is fatal not to keep employed. There are many stories based on this, chiefly related of persons who accidentally find a Cypria.n.u.s and read some of it, when the hobgoblins appear, and the difficulty of the situation increases until some person versed in the use of the book applies the formula that sends the hobgoblins to their proper places."

"The devil I have always heard in Norway as taking the form of a black dog," said Hardy.

"It is the same in our traditions," said Pastor Lindal. "An extraordinary belief was that a carriage at certain times and places would not move, and that the horses could not draw it. The remedy then was, for those who knew how, to take off one hind wheel of the carriage and put it in the carriage, when the devil would have to act as hind wheel to the end of the journey, much to his supposed discomfort. There are many stories of this."

"Hans Christian Andersen's stories have made us acquainted with Nissen, or the house goblin," said Hardy.

"There is little more to tell you then," said the Pastor, "except that Nissen's description is defined by our traditions in Jutland to be a little fellow with sharp cat-formed ears, and to have fingers only, and no thumb. He is supposed to inhabit particular farm-houses and their range of buildings, and, when there is a scarcity of fodder, will steal from another farm; and if there be another Nissen there, they will fight each for the interests of the farm he frequents. He will play tricks on the people working at the farms, particularly so if every Thursday night his porridge is neglected to be put in its accustomed place, generally in the threshing barn."

"But have you no traditions of underground people?" asked Hardy.

"The stories of underground people are more abundant than any other cla.s.s of tradition," replied the Pastor. "We call them Underjordiske, which means underground people; but by it is included Elle folk or elves, Trolds or goblins, and Bjaerg folk or hill people. Their homes are chiefly placed by tradition in the tumuli or barrows to which we have before referred; and at times a tumulus is seen as standing on four pillars, while the Underjordiske dance underneath and drink ale and mead. At times it is related that they come out of their dwellings in the barrows with their red cows, or to air their money, or clean their kitchen utensils. Through all these stories the manner of life of the Underjordiske is the same as that of the Danish Bnde or farmer. They are not, however, always supposed to live in the barrows, as several stories exist of the Bjaerg folk coming to a Bnde and asking him to shift his stable to another place, as the dung from his cattle falls on his (the Bjaergmand's) dining-table, and it is disagreeable. If the Bnde obeys, he is promised prosperity, and everything thrives on his farm. They can also, however, be revengeful, and are dangerous generally. Their particular aversion is church bells, and it is generally attributed to their influence that there are so few Underjordiske seen nowadays."

"Can you relate any stories of them?" asked Hardy.

"Very many," replied the Pastor. "There are several collections of these traditions, and although each collection is generally the same in character, yet the details and stories themselves widely differ.

But I will tell you two of the stories. A Trold lived in a barrow between two church towers, about a mile from each other. This Trold had a wife, who was of Christian folk. It was necessary to get the services of a midwife, and the Trold fetched the nearest, and gave her for her services what appeared to be two pieces of charcoal; but the Trold's wife told her to take them home, but warned her that as soon as she put one foot outside she should suddenly jump aside, as the Trold would cast a glowing hot-iron rod at her. She followed the advice and went home, when the charcoal turned to silver money. The two women, however, became friends, and the midwife often spun flax for the Trold; but she was forbidden to wet her fingers with Christian spittle, and they brought her a little crock to hold water for her to wet her fingers in. This continued for some time, when at last the Trold wife came to the midwife and said, 'My husband, the Trold, will stay here no longer. He says he cannot bear the two ding-dong danging church towers.' So they left, flying, it is said, through the air on a long stick, with all their belongings."

"A story with some imagery," said Hardy.

"The next, however, is more so," said the Pastor. "On a St. John's night, or, as we call it, Sankt. Hans. Nat, the Bjaerg folk and Elle folk had collected to make merry. A man came riding by from Viborg, and he could see the a.s.sembled Underjordiske enjoying the feast. An Ellekone, or elf wife, went round with a large silver tankard, and offered drink to every one, and came at last to the horseman. He pretended to drink, but threw the contents of the tankard over his shoulder, put spurs to his horse, and galloped off. But the Ellekone was after him, and came nearer and nearer; her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were so long that they fell on her knees and impeded her. She therefore threw them, one after the other, over her shoulders, and continued the chase with renewed speed. Fortunately he was close to the river, and dashed through it. The Ellekone caught the hind shoe of his horse, and tore it off; but she could not go over the water. The tankard was said to be the largest ever seen in Denmark."

"The story is a common one to many countries, but it scarcely exists with so much clear and distinct imagery as in your recital, Herr Pastor," said Hardy.

"I think now we have had enough of traditions for one evening," said the Pastor.

"What is your opinion of the effect of these traditions on the minds of the people generally?" asked Hardy.

"It is difficult to say," said the Pastor; "we can but guess at their effect. As education and civilization progress, they lose their superst.i.tious influence and interest and amuse. There is a wild picturesque imagery that must appeal to the most educated mind. They afford subjects to painters; but I have never seen a picture yet based on these traditions that grasped the graphic thought of the recital of the tradition. In a religious sense they do no harm; they excite the imagination of the people only to prepare their minds for the simplicity of the Christian faith, at least they a.s.sist to do so. When I visit my Sognebrn (literally, parish children), I tell the children these traditions, and when they grow older they like to hear anything I have to say; it a.s.sists me in suggesting religious thought when their minds are ripe for it."

Frken Helga, who had all the evening knitted and listened to her father, dropped her knitting and went to him and caressed him. "Dear little father," she said, "you are always good and thoughtful."

"I think so also," said Hardy.

CHAPTER X.

"But I am the most pleased with this little house of anything I ever saw: it stands in a kind of peninsula too, with a delicate clear river about it. I dare hardly go in, lest I should not like it so well within as without, but by your leave I will try."

--_The Complete Angler._

The next day John Hardy received a letter from Prokuratr Steindal of Copenhagen.

"Your honoured instructions as to Rosendal I have attended to. The price they will sell for I have approximately arrived at, but I cannot advise you to buy. The value of Rosendal is not so great as the price asked, and it appears to me that you should hesitate before making a purchase that will pay you so little income. I feel it my duty to say that whatever your instructions may be, that I cannot act on them without a personal interview. If you wish, therefore, to pursue the matter further, you should come to Copenhagen and discuss it with me.

I cannot advise a client to make a purchase to his prejudice; if I did so, I should not only acquire a bad reputation, but it would not be right for me to do so. I await, therefore, the honour of your reply."

John Hardy went to Copenhagen, and returned in a few days to Vandstrup Praestegaard.

The next day the Pastor had received the _Jyllands Post_, the local newspaper. When Hardy appeared at the breakfast table, he said, "Rosendal is sold to Prokuratr Steindal of Copenhagen, and it is extra-ordinary that I have received a letter from him to say that I and my family have leave to visit Rosendal when we wish to do so, and that my two sons, Karl and Axel, have leave to catch all the pike in Rosendal lake. There is the usual notice of the sale in the _Jyllands Post_, and from the letter from Steindal, it must be true."

"I have no doubt of its truth," said Hardy. "I would only suggest that we at once went to fish for the pike at Rosendal lake; my servant can bring the carriage, and I can ride my English horse, so that Frken Helga can enjoy another visit to Rosendal."

"But," said the Pastor, "the permission to fish does not extend to you, Herr Hardy."

"That may be," said Hardy, "but that is no reason why my advice should not be rendered as to how to catch the pike."

Robert Garth brought the carriage and drove, and Hardy rode his horse Buffalo. The weather was pleasant, and the drive was enjoyable.

When they came to Rosendal, the respectful demeanour of the bailiff towards Hardy struck the Pastor. Hardy placed his forefinger across his lips. The bailiff told Hardy that if they wished to have lunch in the mansion they could do so, after a walk in the beechwoods and by the lake and rosary.

"The boys are so intent on the pike fishing," said Hardy, "that I will go with them. We shall try and catch a pike, and send it up to the bailiff's wife to be baked, and will then leave our lines and join you."

"But, Herr Hardy, you have no permission to fish; it only extends to Karl and Axel," said the Pastor, with some firmness.

"Then I think I must leave the boys to their own devices," said Hardy; "but I fear no pike will appear for our lunch."

"It is better so than we should trespa.s.s on a stranger's kindness,"

said the Pastor.

So Hardy walked with the Pastor and his daughter through the beechwoods and by the lake.

"I think now in the summer-time, with the beech trees in full leaf, and the reeds by the lake, and the gra.s.s in the meadows in full growth, that Rosendal is nearly at its best," said Frken Helga.

"It has its beauty always," said her father. "I have seen it in spring, and in summer, and in autumn, and in winter; it has a charm of its own. It appeals to us with its idyllic nature."

"You are right, little father," said Helga; "it has always its peculiar beauty. There is no place I love so much."

Hardy, who had bought Rosendal, felt as if he was deceiving the open and kindly natures of the Pastor and his daughter, and he determined to keep the secret no longer. He would but wait an opportunity to clear the matter up.

When they returned to the mansion of Rosendal, Garth and the bailiff's wife had prepared the refreshments they had taken with them. Garth waited at table. The bailiff's wife, however, appeared disquieted, and the Pastor asked what was the matter.

"Only that the owner of Rosendal should sit at the head of the table, instead of between two boys," replied she.

"The owner of Rosendal!" exclaimed the Pastor.