with luxuriant ivy in summer and winter, and looked as if hung with rich tapestry. They stuck up the two gingerbread figures in the sunshine among the green leaves, and then told the story, and all about the silent love which came to nothing, to a group of children. They called it “love,” because the story was so lovely, and the other children had the same opinion. But when they turned to looked at the gingerbread pair, the broken maiden was gone! A great boy, out of wickedness, had eaten her up. At first the children cried about it; but afterwards, thinking very probably that the poor lover ought not to be left alone in the world, they ate him up too: but they never forgot the story.
The two children still continued to play together by the elder-tree, and under the willow; and the little maiden sang beautiful songs, with a voice that was as clear as a bell. Knud, on the contrary, had not a note of music in him, but he knew the words of the songs, and that of course is something. The people of Kjöge, and even the rich wife of the man who kept the fancy shop, would stand and listen while Joanna was singing, and say, “She has really a very sweet voice.”
Those were happy days; but they could not last for ever. The neighbours were separated, the mother of the little girl was dead, and her father had thoughts of marrying again and of residing in the capital, where he had been promised a very lucrative appointment as messenger. The neighbours parted with tears, the children wept sadly; but their parents promised that they should write to each other at least once a year.
After this, Knud was bound apprentice to a shoemaker; he was growing a great boy, and could not be allowed to run wild any longer. Besides, he was going to be confirmed. Ah, how happy he would have been on that festal day in Copenhagen with littte Joanna; but he still remained at Kjöge, and had never seen the great city, though the town is not five miles from it. But far across the bay, when the sky was clear, the towers of Copenhagen could be seen; and on the day of his confirmation he saw distinctly the golden cross on the principal church glittering in the sun. How often his thoughts were with Joanna! but did she think of him? Yes. About Christmas came a letter from her father to Knud’s parents, which stated that they were going on very well in Copenhagen, and mentioning particularly that Joanna’s beautiful voice was likely to bring her a brilliant fortune in the future. She was engaged to sing at a concert, and she had already earned money by singing, out of which she sent her dear neighbours at Kjöge a whole dollar, for them to make merry on Christmas-eve, and they were to drink her health. She had herself added this in a postscript, and in the same postscript she wrote, “Kind regards to Knud.”
The good neighbours wept, although the news was so pleasant; but they wept tears of joy. Knud’s thoughts had been daily with Joanna, and now he knew that she also had thought of him; and the nearer the time came for his apprenticeship to end, the clearer did it appear to him that he loved Joanna, and that she must be his wife; and a smile came on his lips at the thought, and at one time he drew the thread so fast as he worked, and pressed his foot so hard against the knee strap, that he ran the awl into his
