We had stopped in our walk, and stood looking
out over the fjord and town below, when she said,
'Or best of all, write as the man who lives on
Rough-Hill.'
23rd OF AUGUST.
VII I HAVE discovered that Greta does not really know the old town, and I have asked her if she would let me be her guide. I want lier to learn to love it as I do. Knowing that it would give me pleasure, she accepted my offer. She seems very interested in what I show her and tell her, but most of all it amuses her to see my eagerness in fulfilling my duty as the showman of the old town.
To-day we went to the castle.
The castle is situated close to the fjord, and now does duty as the residence of the governor of the province. It is a long, grey, two-storied building with a number of tiny, mullioned windows. Only the row of old poplars, standing on guard in front, and the red-cloaked soldier marching up and down show the house to be a more distinguished one, otherwise it does not appear to be either very old or very remarkable. It has only a few ruins left from the time it was a real castle and the seat of the king's vassal.
It draws towards evening as Greta and I walk through the deep, gloomy gateway in the front building into the large, square courtyard, which is surrounded by low, white wings. The grass grows thickly amongst the stones of the courtyard, and
