long way into the forest, and even ventured together to climb the high
ridge. Another time they found a few snipes' eggs in the wood, which
was a great event. Ib had never been on the heath where Christina's
father lived, nor on the river; but at last came an opportunity.
Christina's father invited him to go for a sail in his boat; and the
evening before, he accompanied the boatman across the heath to his
house. The next morning early, the two children were placed on the top
of a high pile of firewood in the boat, and sat eating bread and
wild strawberries, while Christina's father and his man drove the boat
forward with poles. They floated on swiftly, for the tide was in their
favor, passing over lakes, formed by the stream in its course;
sometimes they seemed quite enclosed by reeds and water-plants, yet
there was always room for them to pass out, although the old trees
overhung the water and the old oaks stretched out their bare branches,
as if they had turned up their sleeves and wished to show their
knotty, naked arms. Old alder-trees, whose roots were loosened from
the banks, clung with their fibres to the bottom of the stream, and
the tops of the branches above the water looked like little woody
islands. The water-lilies waved themselves to and fro on the river,
everything made the excursion beautiful, and at last they came to
the great eel-weir, where the water rushed through the flood-gates;
and the children thought this a beautiful sight. In those days there
was no factory nor any town house, nothing but the great farm, with
its scanty-bearing fields, in which could be seen a few herd of
cattle, and one or two farm laborers. The rushing of the water through
the sluices, and the scream of the wild ducks, were almost the only
signs of active life at Silkborg. After the firewood had been
unloaded, Christina's father bought a whole bundle of eels and a
sucking-pig, which were all placed in a basket in the stern of the
boat. Then they returned again up the stream; and as the wind was
favorable, two sails were hoisted, which carried the boat on as well
as if two horses had been harnessed to it. As they sailed on, they
came by chance to the place where the boatman's assistant lived, at
a little distance from the bank of the river. The boat was moored; and
the two men, after desiring the children to sit still, both went on
shore. they obeyed this order for a very short time, and then forgot
it altogether. First they peeped into the basket containing the eels
and the sucking-pig; then they must needs pull out the pig and take it
in their hands, and feel it, and touch it; and as they both wanted
to hold it at the same time, the consequence was that they let it fall
into the water, and the pig sailed away with the stream.
Here was a terrible disaster. Ib jumped ashore, and ran a little
distance from the boat.
"Oh, take me with you," cried Christina; and she sprang after him.
In a few minutes they found themselves deep in a thicket, and could no
longer see the boat or the shore. They ran on a little farther, and
then Christina fell down, and began to cry.
Ib helped her up, and said, "Never mind; follow me. Yonder is
the house." But the house was not yonder; and they wandered still
farther, over the dry rustling leaves of the last year, and treading
on fallen branches that crackled under their little feet; then they
heard a loud, piercing cry, and they stood still to listen.
Presently the scream of an eagle sounded through the wood; it was an
ugly cry, and it frightened the children; but before them, in the
thickest part of the forest, grew the most beautiful blackberries,
in wonderful quantities. They looked so inviting that the children
could not help stopping; and they remained there so long eating,
that their mouths and cheeks became quite black with the juice.
Presently they heard the frightful scream again, and Christina
said, "We shall get into trouble about that pig."
"Oh, never mind," said Ib; "we will go home to my father's
house. It is here in the wood." So they went on, but the road led them
out of the way; no house could be seen, it grew dark, and the children
were afraid. The solemn stillness that reigned around them was now and
then broken by the shrill cries of the great horned owl and other
birds that they knew nothing of. At last they both lost themselves
in the thicket; Christina began to cry, and then Ib cried too; and,
after weeping and lamenting for some time, they stretched themselves
down on the dry leaves and fell asleep.
The sun was high in the heavens when the two children woke. They
felt cold; but not far from their resting-place, on a hill, the sun
was shining through the trees. They thought if they went there they
should be warm, and Ib fancied he should be able to see his father's
house from such a high spot. But they were far away from home now,
in quite another part of the forest. They clambered to the top of
the rising ground, and found themselves on the edge of a declivity,
which sloped down to a clear transparent lake. Great quantities of
fish could be seen through the clear water, sparkling in the sun's
rays; they were quite surprised when they came so suddenly upon such
an unexpected sight.
Close to where they stood grew a hazel-bush, covered with
beautiful nuts. They soon gathered some, cracked them, and ate the
fine young kernels, which were only just ripe. But there was another
surprise and fright in store for them. Out of the thicket stepped a
tall old woman, her face quite brown, and her hair of a deep shining
black; the whites of her eyes glittered like a Moor's; on her back she
carried a bundle, and in her hand a knotted stick. She was a gypsy.
The children did not at first understand what she said. She drew out
of her pocket three large nuts, in which she told them were hidden the
most beautiful and lovely things in the world, for they were wishing
nuts. Ib looked at her, and as she spoke so kindly, he took courage,
and asked her if she would give him the nuts; and the woman gave
them to him, and then gathered some more from the bushes for
herself, quite a pocket full. Ib and Christina looked at the wishing
nuts with wide open eyes.
"Is there in this nut a carriage, with a pair of horses?" asked
Ib.
"Yes, there is a golden carriage, with two golden horses," replied
the woman.
"Then give me that nut," said Christina; so Ib gave it to her, and
the strange woman tied up the nut for her in her handkerchief.
Ib held up another nut. "Is there, in this nut, a pretty little
neckerchief like the one Christina has on her neck?" asked Ib.
"There are ten neckerchiefs in it," she replied, "as well as
beautiful dresses, stockings, and a hat and veil."
"Then I will have that one also," said Christina; "and it is a
pretty one too. And then Ib gave her the second nut.
The third was a little black thing. "You may keep that one,"
said Christina; "it is quite as pretty."
"What is in it?" asked Ib.
"The best of all things for you," replied the gypsy. So Ib held
the nut very tight.
Then the woman promised to lead the children to the right path,
that they might find their way home: and they went forward certainly
in quite another direction to the one they meant to take; therefore no
one ought to speak against the woman, and say that she wanted to steal
the children. In the wild wood-path they met a forester who knew Ib,
and, by his help, Ib and Christina reached home, where they found
every one had been very anxious about them. They were pardoned and
forgiven, although they really had both done wrong, and deserved to
get into trouble; first, because they had let the sucking-pig fall
into the water; and, secondly, because they had run away. Christina
was taken back to her father's house on the heath, and Ib remained
in the farm-house on the borders of the wood, near the great land
ridge.
The first thing Ib did that evening was to take out of his
pocket the little black nut, in which the best thing of all was said
to be enclosed. He laid it carefully between the door and the
door-post, and then shut the door so that the nut cracked directly.
But there was not much kernel to be seen; it was what we should call
hollow or worm-eaten, and looked as if it had been filled with tobacco
or rich black earth. "It is just what I expected!" exclaimed Ib.
"How should there be room in a little nut like this for the best thing
of all? Christina will find her two nuts just the same; there will
be neither fine clothes or a golden carriage in them."
Winter came; and the new year, and indeed many years passed
away; until Ib was old enough to be confirmed, and, therefore, he went
during a whole winter to the clergyman of the nearest village to be
prepared.
One day, about this time, the boatman paid a visit to Ib's
parents, and told them that Christina was going to service, and that
she had been remarkably fortunate in obtaining a good place, with most
respectable people. "Only think," he said, "She is going to the rich
innkeeper's, at the hotel in Herning, many miles west from here. She
is to assist the landlady in the housekeeping; and, if afterwards
she behaves well and remains to be confirmed, the people will treat
her as their own daughter."
So Ib and Christina took leave of each other. People already
called them "the betrothed," and at parting the girl showed Ib the two
nuts, which she had taken care of ever since the time that they lost
themselves in the wood; and she told him also that the little wooden
shoes he once carved for her when he was a boy, and gave her as a
present, had been carefully kept in a drawer ever since. And so they
parted.
After Ib's confirmation, he remained at home with his mother,
for he had become a clever shoemaker, and in summer managed the farm
for her quite alone. His father had been dead some time, and his
mother kept no farm servants. Sometimes, but very seldom, he heard
of Christina, through a postillion or eel-seller who was passing.
But she was well off with the rich innkeeper; and after being
confirmed she wrote a letter to her father, in which was a kind
message to Ib and his mother. In this letter, she mentioned that her
master and mistress had made her a present of a beautiful new dress,
and some nice under-clothes. This was, of course, pleasant news.
One day, in the following spring, there came a knock at the door
of the house where Ib's old mother lived; and when they opened it,
lo and behold, in stepped the boatman and Christina. She had come to
pay them a visit, and to spend the day. A carriage had to come from
the Herning hotel to the next village, and she had taken the
opportunity to see her friends once more. She looked as elegant as a
real lady, and wore a pretty dress, beautifully made on purpose for
her. There she stood, in full dress, while Ib wore only his working
clothes. He could not utter a word; he could only seize her hand and
hold it fast in his own, but he felt too happy and glad to open his
lips. Christina, however, was quite at her ease; she talked and
talked, and kissed him in the most friendly manner. Even afterwards,
when they were left alone, and she asked, "Did you know me again, Ib?"
he still stood holding her hand, and said at last, "You are become
quite a grand lady, Christina, and I am only a rough working man;
but I have often thought of you and of old times." Then they
wandered up the great ridge, and looked across the stream to the
heath, where the little hills were covered with the flowering broom.
Ib said nothing; but before the time came for them to part, it
became quite clear to him that Christina must be his wife: had they
not even in childhood been called the betrothed? To him it seemed as
if they were really engaged to each other, although not a word had
been spoken on the subject. They had only a few more hours to remain
together, for Christina was obliged to return that evening to the
neighboring village, to be ready for the carriage which was to start
the next morning early for Herning. Ib and her father accompanied
her to the village. It was a fine moonlight evening; and when they
arrived, Ib stood holding Christina's hand in his, as if he could
not let her go. His eyes brightened, and the words he uttered came
with hesitation from his lips, but from the deepest recesses of his
heart: "Christina, if you have not become too grand, and if you can be
contented to live in my mother's house as my wife, we will be
married some day. But we can wait for a while."
"Oh yes," she replied; "Let us wait a little longer, Ib. I can
trust you, for I believe that I do love you. But let me think it
over." Then he kissed her lips; and so they parted.
On the way home, Ib told the boatman that he and Christina were as
good as engaged to each other; and the boatman found out that he had
always expected it would be so, and went home with Ib that evening,
and remained the night in the farmhouse; but nothing further was
said of the engagement. During the next year, two letters passed
between Ib and Christina. They were signed, "Faithful till death;" but
at the end of that time, one day the boatman came over to see Ib, with
a kind greeting from Christina. He had something else to say, which
made him hesitate in a strange manner. At last it came out that
Christina, who had grown a very pretty girl, was more lucky than ever.
She was courted and admired by every one; but her master's son, who
had been home on a visit, was so much pleased with Christina that he
wished to marry her. He had a very good situation in an office at
Copenhagen, and as she had also taken a liking for him, his parents
