A STORY FROM THE SAND-HILLS　　 1872　　 FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN　　 A STORY FROM THE SAND-HILLS　　 by Hans Christian Andersen　　 THIS story is from the sand-dunes or sand-hills of Jutland, but it　　 does not begin there in the North, but far away in the South, in Spain.

The wide sea is the highroad from nation to nation; journey in thought; then, to sunny Spain.

It is warm and beautiful there;　　 the fiery pomegranate flowers peep from among dark laurels; a cool　　 refreshing breeze from the mountains blows over the orange gardens,　　 over the Moorish halls with their golden cupolas and coloured walls.

　　 Children go through the streets in procession with candles and　　 waving banners, and the sky, lofty and clear with its glittering　　 stars, rises above them.

Sounds of singing and castanets can be heard, and youths and maidens dance upon the flowering acacia trees, while even the beggar sits upon a block of marble, refreshing himself with a juicy melon, and dreamily enjoying life.

It all seems like a beautiful dream.

　　 Here dwelt a newly married couple who completely gave themselves　　 up to the charm of life; indeed they possessed every good thing they　　 could desire- health and happiness, riches and honour.

　　 We are as happy as human beings can be," said the young couple　　 from the depths of their hearts.

They had indeed only one step　　 higher to mount on the ladder of happiness- they hoped that God　　 would give them a child, a son like them in form and spirit.

The happy　　 little one was to be welcomed with rejoicing, to be cared for with　　 love and tenderness, and enjoy every advantage of wealth and luxury　　 that a rich and influential family can give.

So the days went by　　 like a joyous festival.

　　 "Life is a gracious gift from God, almost too great a gift for　　 us to appreciate!

" said the young wife.

"Yet they say that fulness　　 of joy for ever and ever can only be found in the future life.

I　　 cannot realise it!

"　　 "The thought arises, perhaps, from the arrogance of men," said the　　 husband.

"It seems a great pride to believe that we shall live for　　 ever, that we shall be as gods!

Were not these the words of the　　 serpent, the father of lies?

"　　 "Surely you do not doubt the existence of a future life?

"　　 exclaimed the young wife.

It seemed as if one of the first shadows　　 passed over her sunny thoughts.

　　 "Faith realises it, and the priests tell us so," replied her　　 husband; "but amid all my happiness I feel that it is arrogant to　　 demand a continuation of it- another life after this.

Has not so　　 much been given us in this world that we ought to be, we must be,　　 contented with it?

"　　 "Yes, it has been given to us," said the young wife, "but this　　 life is nothing more than one long scene of trial and hardship to many　　 thousands.

How many have been cast into this world only to endure　　 poverty, shame, illness, and misfortune?

If there were no future life,　　 everything here would be too unequally divided, and God would not be the personification of justice.

"　　 "The beggar there," said her husband, "has joys of his own which　　 seem to him great, and cause him as much pleasure as a king would find in the magnificence of his palace.

And then do you not think that　　 the beast of burden, which suffers blows and hunger, and works　　 itself to death, suffers just as much from its miserable fate?

The　　 dumb creature might demand a future life also, and declare the law　　 unjust that excludes it from the advantages of the higher creation.

"　　 "Christ said: 'In my father's house are many mansions,'" she　　 answered.

"Heaven is as boundless as the love of our Creator; the dumb animal is also His creature, and I firmly believe that no life will be lost, but each will receive as much happiness as he can enjoy, which will be sufficient for him.

"　　 "This world is sufficient for me," said the husband, throwing　　 his arm round his beautiful, sweet-tempered wife.

He sat by her side　　> on the open balcony, smoking a cigarette in the cool air, which was　　 loaded with the sweet scent of carnations and orange blossoms.

　　 Sounds of music and the clatter of castanets came from the road　　 beneath, the stars shone above then, and two eyes full of affection-　　 those of his wife- looked upon him with the expression of undying　　 love.

"Such a moment," he said, "makes it worth while to be born, to　　 die, and to be annihilated!

" He smiled- the young wife raised her hand　　 in gentle reproof, and the shadow passed away from her mind, and　　 they were happy- quite happy.

　　 Everything seemed to work together for their good.

They advanced　　 in honour, in prosperity, and in happiness.

A change came certainly,　　 but it was only a change of place and not of circumstances.

　　 The young man was sent by his Sovereign as ambassador to the　　 Russian Court.

This was an office of high dignity, but his birth and　　 his acquirements entitled him to the honour.

He possessed a large　　 fortune, and his wife had brought him wealth equal to his own, for she　　 was the daughter of a rich and respected merchant.

One of this　　 merchant's largest and finest ships was to be sent that year to　　 Stockholm, and it was arranged that the dear young couple, the　　 daughter and the son-in-law, should travel in it to St.

Petersburg.

　　 All the arrangements on board were princely and silk and luxury on　　 every side.

　　 In an old war song, called "The King of England's Son," it says:　　 "Farewell, he said, and sailed away.

　　 And many recollect that day.

　　 The ropes were of silk, the anchor of gold,　　 And everywhere riches and wealth untold.

"　　 These words would aptly describe the vessel from Spain, for here　　 was the same luxury, and the same parting thought naturally arose:　　 "God grant that we once more may meet　　 In sweet unclouded peace and joy.

"　　 There was a favourable wind blowing as they left the Spanish　　 coast, and it would be but a short journey, for they hoped to reach　　 their destination in a few weeks; but when they came out upon the wide ocean the wind dropped, the sea became smooth and shining, and the stars shone brightly.

Many festive evenings were spent on board.

At last the travellers began to wish for wind, for a favourable breeze; but their wish was useless- not a breath of air stirred, or if it　　 did arise it was contrary.

Weeks passed by in this way, two whole　　 months, and then at length a fair wind blew from the south-west.

The　　 ship sailed on the high seas between Scotland and Jutland; then the　　 wind increased, just as it did in the old song of "The King of　　 England's Son.

"　　 "'Mid storm and wind, and pelting hail,　　 Their efforts were of no avail.

　　 The golden anchor forth they threw;　　 Towards Denmark the west wind blew.

"　　 This all happened a long time ago; King Christian VII, who sat　　 on the Danish throne, was still a young man.

Much has happened since then, much has altered or been changed.

Sea and moorland have been turned into green meadows, stretches of heather have become arable land, and in the shelter of the peasant's cottages, apple-trees and rose-bushes grow, though they certainly require much care, as the sharp west wind blows upon them.

In West Jutland one may go back in thought to old times, farther back than the days when Christian VII ruled.

The purple heather still extends for miles, with its barrows and aerial spectacles, intersected with sandy uneven roads, just as it did then; towards the west, where broad streams run into the bays, are marshes and meadows encircled by lofty, sandy hills, which, like a chain of Alps, raise their pointed summits near the sea; they are only broken by high ridges of clay, from which the sea, year by year, bites out great mouthfuls, so that the overhanging banks fall down as if by the shock of an earthquake.

Thus it is there today and thus it was long ago, when the happy pair were sailing in the beautiful ship.

　　 It was a Sunday, towards the end of September; the sun was　　 shining, and the chiming of the church bells in the Bay of Nissum　　 was carried along by the breeze like a chain of sounds.

The churches　　 there are almost entirely built of hewn blocks of stone, each like a　　 piece of rock.

The North Sea might foam over them and they would not be disturbed.

Nearly all of them are without steeples, and the bells　　 are hung outside between two beams.

The service was over, and the　　 congregation passed out into the churchyard, where not a tree or　　 bush was to be seen; no flowers were planted there, and they had not　　 placed a single wreath upon any of the graves.

It is just the same　　 now.

Rough mounds show where the dead have been buried, and rank grass, tossed by the wind, grows thickly over the whole churchyard; here and there a grave has a sort of monument, a block of half-decayed wood, rudely cut in the shape of a coffin; the blocks are brought from the forest of West Jutland, but the forest is the sea itself, and the inhabitants find beams, and planks, and fragments which the waves have cast upon the beach.

One of these blocks had been placed by loving hands on a child's grave, and one of the women who had come out of the church walked up to it; she stood there, her eyes resting on the weather-beaten memorial, and a few moments afterwards her husband joined her.

They were both silent, but he took her hand, and they walked together across the purple heath, over moor and meadow towards the sandhills.

For a long time they went on without speaking.

　　 "It was a good sermon to-day," the man said at last.

"If we had　　 not God to trust in, we should have nothing.

"　　 "Yes," replied the woman, "He sends joy and sorrow, and He has a　　 right to send them.

To-morrow our little son would have been five　　 years old if we had been permitted to keep him.

"　　 "It is no use fretting, wife," said the man.

"The boy is well　　 provided for.

He is where we hope and pray to go to.

"　　 They said nothing more, but went out towards their houses among　　 the sand-hills.

All at once, in front of one of the houses where the　　 sea grass did not keep the sand down with its twining roots, what　　 seemed to be a column of smoke rose up.

A gust of wind rushed　　 between the hills, hurling the particles of sand high into the air;　　 another gust, and the strings of fish hung up to dry flapped and　　 beat violently against the walls of the cottage; then everything was　　 quiet once more, and the sun shone with renewed heat.

　　 The man and his wife went into the cottage.

They had soon taken　　 off their Sunday clothes and come out again, hurrying over the dunes　　 which stood there like great waves of sand suddenly arrested in　　 their course, while the sandweeds and dune grass with its bluish　　 stalks spread a changing colour over them.

A few neighbours also　　 came out, and helped each other to draw the boats higher up on the　　 beach.

The wind now blew more keenly, it was chilly and cold, and when they went back over the sand-hills, sand and little sharp stones　　 blew into their faces.

The waves rose high, crested with white foam,　　 and the wind cut off their crests, scattering the foam far and wide.

　　 Evening came; there was a swelling roar in the air, a wailing or　　 moaning like the voices of despairing spirits, that sounded above　　 the thunder of the waves.

The fisherman's little cottage was on the　　 very margin, and the sand rattled against the window panes; every　　 now and then a violent gust of wind shook the house to its foundation.

　　 It was dark, but about midnight the moon would rise.

Later on the　　 air became clearer, but the storm swept over the perturbed sea with　　 undiminished fury; the fisher folks had long since gone to bed, but in　　 such weather there was no chance of closing an eye.

Presently there　　 was a tapping at the window; the door was opened, and a voice said:　　 "There's a large ship stranded on the farthest reef.

"　　 In a moment the fisher people sprung from their beds and hastily　　 dressed themselves.

The moon had risen, and it was light enough to　　 make the surrounding objects visible to those who could open their　　 eyes in the blinding clouds of sand; the violence of the wind was　　 terrible, and it was only possible to pass among the sand-hills if one　　 crept forward between the gusts; the salt spray flew up from the sea　　 like down, and the ocean foamed like a roaring cataract towards the　　 beach.

Only a practised eye could discern the vessel out in the　　 offing; she was a fine brig, and the waves now lifted her over the　　 reef, three or four cables' length out of the usual channel.

She drove　　 towards the shore, struck on the second reef, and remained fixed.

　　 It was impossible to render assistance; the sea rushed in upon the　　 vessel, making a clean breach over her.

Those on shore thought they　　 heard cries for help from those on board, and could plainly　　 distinguish the busy but useless efforts made by the stranded sailors.

　　 Now a wave came rolling onward.

It fell with enormous force on the　　 bowsprit, tearing it from the vessel, and the stern was lifted high　　 above the water.

Two people were seen to embrace and plunge together into the sea, and the next moment one of the largest waves that rolled towards the sand-hills threw a body on the beach.

It was a woman; the sailors said that she was quite dead, but the women thought they saw signs of life in her, so the stranger was carried across the sand-hills to the fisherman's cottage.

How beautiful and fair she was!

　　 She must be a great lady, they said.

　　 They laid her upon the humble bed; there was not a yard of linen　　 on it, only a woollen coverlet to keep the occupant warm.

　　 Life returned to her, but she was delirious, and knew nothing of　　 what had happened or where she was; and it was better so, for　　 everything she loved and valued lay buried in the sea.

The same　　 thing happened to her ship as to the one spoken of in the song about　　 "The King of England's Son.

"　　 "Alas!

how terrible to see　　 The gallant bark sink rapidly.

"　　 Fragments of the wreck and pieces of wood were washed ashore; they were all that remained of the vessel.

The wind still blew violently on the coast.

　　 For a few moments the strange lady seemed to rest; but she awoke　　 in pain, and uttered cries of anguish and fear.

She opened her　　 wonderfully beautiful eyes, and spoke a few words, but nobody　　 understood her.

- And lo!

as a reward for the sorrow and suffering　　 she had undergone, she held in her arms a new-born babe.

The child　　 that was to have rested upon a magnificent couch, draped with silken　　 curtains, in a luxurious home; it was to have been welcomed with joy　　 to a life rich in all the good things of this world; and now Heaven　　 had ordained that it should be born in this humble retreat, that it　　 should not even receive a kiss from its mother, for when the　　 fisherman's wife laid the child upon the mother's bosom, it rested　　 on a heart that beat no more- she was dead.

　　 The child that was to have been reared amid wealth and luxury　　 was cast into the world, washed by the sea among the sand-hills to　　 share the fate and hardships of the poor.

　　 Here we are reminded again of the song about "The King of　　 England's Son," for in it mention is made of the custom prevalent at　　 the time, when knights and squires plundered those who had been　　 saved from shipwreck.

The ship had stranded some distance south of　　 Nissum Bay, and the cruel, inhuman days, when, as we have just said,　　 the inhabitants of Jutland treated the shipwrecked people so crudely　　 were past, long ago.

Affectionate sympathy and self-sacrifice for　　 the unfortunate existed then, just as it does in our own time in　　 many a bright example.

The dying mother and the unfortunate child　　 would have found kindness and help wherever they had been cast by　　 the winds, but nowhere would it have been more sincere than in the　　 cottage of the poor fisherman's wife, who had stood, only the day　　 before, beside her child's grave, who would have been five years old　　 that day if God had spared it to her.

　　 No one knew who the dead stranger was, they could not even form　　 a conjecture; the fragments of wreckage gave no clue to the matter.

　　 No tidings reached Spain of the fate of the daughter and　　 son-in-law.

They did not arrive at their destination, and violent　　 storms had raged during the past weeks.

At last the verdict was given:　　 "Foundered at sea- all lost.

" But in the fisherman's cottage among the　　 sand-hills near Hunsby, there lived a little scion of the rich Spanish　　 family.

　　 Where Heaven sends food for two, a third can manage to find a　　 meal, and in the depth of the sea there is many a dish of fish for the　　 hungry.

　　 They called the boy Jurgen.

　　 "It must certainly be a Jewish child, its skin is so dark," the　　 people said.

　　 "It might be an Italian or a Spaniard," remarked the clergyman.

　　 But to the fisherman's wife these nations seemed all the same, and　　 she consoled herself with the thought that the child was baptized as a　　 Christian.

　　 The boy throve; the noble blood in his veins was warm, and he　　 became strong on his homely fare.

He grew apace in the humble cottage, and the Danish dialect spoken by the West Jutes became his language.

　　 The pomegranate seed from Spain became a hardy plant on the coast of West Jutland.

Thus may circumstances alter the course of a man's life!

　　 To this home he clung with deep-rooted affection; he was to experience cold and hunger, and the misfortunes and hardships that surround the poor; but he also tasted of their joys.

　　 Childhood has bright days for every one, and the memory of them　　 shines through the whole after-life.

The boy had many sources of　　 pleasure and enjoyment; the coast for miles and miles was full of　　 playthings, for it was a mosaic of pebbles, some red as coral or　　 yellow as amber, and others again white and rounded like birds' eggs　　 and smoothed and prepared by the sea.

Even the bleached fishes'　　 skeletons, the water plants dried by the wind, and seaweed, white　　 and shining long linen-like bands waving between the stones- all these　　 seemed made to give pleasure and occupation for the boy's thoughts,　　 and he had an intelligent mind; many great talents lay dormant in him.

　　 How readily he remembered stories and songs that he heard, and how　　 dexterous he was with his fingers!

With stones and mussel-shells he　　 could put together pictures and ships with which one could decorate　　 the room; and he could make wonderful things from a stick, his　　 foster-mother said, although he was still so young and little.

He　　 had a sweet voice, and every melody seemed to flow naturally from　　 his lips.

And in his heart were hidden chords, which might have　　 sounded far out into the world if he had been placed anywhere else　　 than in the fisherman's hut by the North Sea.

　　 One day another ship was wrecked on the coast, and among other　　 things a chest filled with valuable flower bulbs was washed ashore.

　　 Some were put into saucepans and cooked, for they were thought to be fit to eat, and others lay and shrivelled in the sand- they did not　　 accomplish their purpose, or unfold their magnificent colours.

Would　　 Jurgen fare better?

The flower bulbs had soon played their part, but　　 he had years of apprenticeship before him.

Neither he nor his　　 friends noticed in what a monotonous, uniform way one day followed　　 another, for there was always plenty to do and see.

The ocean itself　　 was a great lesson-book, and it unfolded a new leaf each day of calm　　 or storm- the crested wave or the smooth surface.

　　 The visits to the church were festive occasions, but among the　　 fisherman's house one was especially looked forward to; this was, in　　 fact, the visit of the brother of Jurgen's foster-mother, the　　 eel-breeder from Fjaltring, near Bovbjerg.

He came twice a year in a　　 cart, painted red with blue and white tulips upon it, and full of　　 eels; it was covered and locked like a box, two dun oxen drew it,　　 and Jurgen was allowed to guide them.

　　 The eel-breeder was a witty fellow, a merry guest, and brought a　　 measure of brandy with him.

They all received a small glassful or a　　 cupful if there were not enough glasses; even Jurgen had about a　　 thimbleful, that he might digest the fat eel, as the eel-breeder said;　　 he always told one story over and over again, and if his hearers　　 laughed he would immediately repeat it to them.

Jurgen while still a　　 boy, and also when he was older, used phrases from the eel-breeder's　　 story on various occasions, so it will be as well for us to listen　　 to it.

It runs thus:　　 "The eels went into the bay, and the young ones begged leave to go　　 a little farther out.

'Don't go too far,' said their mother; 'the ugly　　 eel-spearer might come and snap you all up.

' But they went too far,　　 and of eight daughters only three came back to the mother, and these　　 wept and said, 'We only went a little way out, and the ugly　　 eel-spearer came immediately and stabbed five of our sisters to　　 death.

' 'They'll come back again,' said the mother eel.

'Oh, no,'　　 exclaimed the daughters, 'for he skinned them, cut them in two, and　　 fried them.

' 'Oh, they'll come back again,' the mother eel　　 persisted.

'No,' replied the daughters, 'for he ate them up.

' 'They'll　　 come back again,' repeated the mother eel.

'But he drank brandy　　 after them,' said the daughters.

'Ah, then they'll never come back,'　　 said the mother, and she burst out crying, 'it's the brandy that　　 buries the eels.

'"　　 "And therefore," said the eel-breeder in conclusion, "it is always　　 the proper thing to drink brandy after eating eels.

"　　 This story was the tinsel thread, the most humorous recollection　　 of Jurgen's life.

He also wanted to go a little way farther out and up　　 the bay- that is to say, out into the world in a ship- but his　　 mother said, like the eel-breeder, "There are so many bad people-　　 eel spearers!

" He wished to go a little way past the sand-hills, out　　 into the dunes, and at last he did: four happy days, the brightest　　 of his childhood, fell to his lot, and the whole beauty and　　 splendour of Jutland, all the happiness and sunshine of his home, were concentrated in these.

He went to a festival, but it was a burial　　 feast.

　　 A rich relation of the fisherman's family had died; the farm was　　 situated far eastward in the country and a little towards the north.

　　 Jurgen's foster parents went there, and he also went with them from　　 the dunes, over heath and moor, where the Skjaerumaa takes its　　 course through green meadows and contains many eels; mother eels　　 live there with their daughters, who are caught and eaten up by wicked　　 people.

But do not men sometimes act quite as cruelly towards their　　 own fellow-men?

Was not the knight Sir Bugge murdered by wicked　　 people?

And though he was well spoken of, did he not also wish to kill the architect who built the castle for him, with its thick walls and　　 tower, at the point where the Skjaerumaa falls into the bay?

Jurgen　　 and his parents now stood there; the wall and the ramparts still　　 remained, and red crumbling fragments lay scattered around.

Here it　　 was that Sir Bugge, after the architect had left him, said to one of　　 his men, "Go after him and say, 'Master, the tower shakes.

' If he　　 turns round, kill him and take away the money I paid him, but if he　　 does not turn round let him go in peace.

" The man did as he was　　 told; the architect did not turn round, but called back "The tower　　 does not shake in the least, but one day a man will come from the west in a blue cloak- he will cause it to shake!

" And so indeed it happened a hundred years later, for the North Sea broke in and cast down the tower; but Predbjorn Gyldenstjerne, the man who then possessed the castle, built a new castle higher up at the end of the meadow, and that one is standing to this day, and is called Norre-Vosborg.

　　 Jurgen and his foster parents went past this castle.

They had told　　 him its story during the long winter evenings, and now he saw the　　 stately edifice, with its double moat, and trees and bushes; the wall,　　 covered with ferns, rose within the moat, but the lofty lime-trees　　 were the most beautiful of all; they grew up to the highest windows,　　 and the air was full of their sweet fragrance.

In a north-west　　 corner of the garden stood a great bush full of blossom, like winter　　 snow amid the summer's green; it was a juniper bush, the first that　　 Jurgen had ever seen in bloom.

He never forgot it, nor the lime-trees;　　 the child's soul treasured up these memories of beauty and fragrance　　 to gladden the old man.

　　 From Norre-Vosborg, where the juniper blossomed, the journey　　 became more pleasant, for they met some other people who were also　　 going to the funeral and were riding in waggons.

Our travellers had to　　 sit all together on a little box at the back of the waggon, but even　　 this, they thought, was better than walking.

So they continued their　　 journey across the rugged heath.

The oxen which drew the waggon　　 stopped every now and then, where a patch of fresh grass appeared amid the heather.

The sun shone with considerable heat, and it was　　 wonderful to behold how in the far distance something like smoke　　 seemed to be rising; yet this smoke was clearer than the air; it was　　 transparent, and looked like rays of light rolling and dancing afar　　 over the heath.

　　 "That is Lokeman driving his sheep," said some one.

　　 And this was enough to excite Jurgen's imagination.

He felt as　　 if they were now about to enter fairyland, though everything was still　　 real.

How quiet it was!

The heath stretched far and wide around them　　 like a beautiful carpet.

The heather was in blossom, and the　　 juniper-bushes and fresh oak saplings rose like bouquets from the　　 earth.

An inviting place for a frolic, if it had not been for the　　 number of poisonous adders of which the travellers spoke; they also　　 mentioned that the place had formerly been infested with wolves, and　　 that the district was still called Wolfsborg for this reason.

The　　 old man who was driving the oxen told them that in the lifetime of his　　 father the horses had many a hard battle with the wild beasts that　　 were now exterminated.

One morning, when he himself had gone out to bring in the horses, he found one of them standing with its forefeet　　 on a wolf it had killed, but the savage animal had torn and　　 lacerated the brave horse's legs.

　　 The journey over the heath and the deep sand was only too　　 quickly at an end.

They stopped before the house of mourning, where　　 they found plenty of guests within and without.

Waggon after waggon　　 stood side by side, while the horses and oxen had been turned out to　　 graze on the scanty pasture.

Great sand-hills like those at home by　　 the North Sea rose behind the house and extended far and wide.

How had they come here, so many miles inland?

They were as large and high as those on the coast, and the wind had carried them there; there was also a legend attached to them.

　　 Psalms were sung, and a few of the old people shed tears; with　　 this exception, the guests were cheerful enough, it seemed to　　 Jurgen, and there was plenty to eat and drink.

There were eels of　　 the fattest, requiring brandy to bury them, as the eel-breeder said;　　 and certainly they did not forget to carry out his maxim here.

　　 Jurgen went in and out the house; and on the third day he felt　　 as much at home as he did in the fisherman's cottage among the　　 sand-hills, where he had passed his early days.

Here on the heath were riches unknown to him until now; for flowers, blackberries, and　　 bilberries were to be found in profusion, so large and sweet that when　　 they were crushed beneath the tread of passers-by the heather was　　 stained with their red juice.

Here was a barrow and yonder another.

　　 Then columns of smoke rose into the still air; it was a heath fire,　　 they told him- how brightly it blazed in the dark evening!

　　 The fourth day came, and the funeral festivities were at an end;　　 they were to go back from the land-dunes to the sand-dunes.

　　 "Ours are better," said the old fisherman, Jurgen's foster-father;　　 "these have no strength.

"　　 And they spoke of the way in which the sand-dunes had come inland,　　 and it seemed very easy to understand.

This is how they explained it:　　 A dead body had been found on the coast, and the peasants buried　　 it in the churchyard.

From that time the sand began to fly about and　　 the sea broke in with violence.

A wise man in the district advised　　 them to open the grave and see if the buried man was not lying sucking his thumb, for if so he must be a sailor, and the sea would not rest until it had got him back.

The grave was opened, and he really was found with his thumb in his mouth.

So they laid him upon a cart, and harnessed two oxen to it; and the oxen ran off with the sailor over heath and moor to the ocean, as if they had been stung by an adder.

　　 Then the sand ceased to fly inland, but the hills that had been　　 piled up still remained.

　　 All this Jurgen listened to and treasured up in his memory of　　 the happiest days of his childhood- the days of the burial feast.

　　 How delightful it was to see fresh places and to mix with　　 strangers!

And he was to go still farther, for he was not yet fourteen　　 years old when he went out in a ship to see the world.

He　　 encountered bad weather, heavy seas, unkindness, and hard men- such were his experiences, for he became ship-boy.

Cold nights, bad living, and blows had to be endured; then he felt his noble Spanish blood boil within him, and bitter, angry, words rose to his lips, but he gulped them down; it was better, although he felt as the eel must feel when it is skinned, cut up, and put into the frying-pan.

　　 "I shall get over it," said a voice within him.

　　 He saw the Spanish coast, the native land of his parents.

He　　 even saw the town where they had lived in joy and prosperity, but he　　 knew nothing of his home or his relations, and his relations knew just　　 as little about him.

　　 The poor ship boy was not permitted to land, but on the last day　　 of their stay he managed to get ashore.

There were several purchases　　 to be made, and he was sent to carry them on board.

　　 Jurgen stood there in his shabby clothes which looked as if they　　 had been washed in the ditch and dried in the chimney; he, who had　　 always dwelt among the sand-hills, now saw a great city for the　　 first time.

How lofty the houses seemed, and what a number of people there were in the streets!

some pushing this way, some that- a perfect maelstrom of citizens and peasants, monks and soldiers- the jingling of bells on the trappings of asses and mules, the chiming of church bells, calling, shouting, hammering and knocking- all going on at once.

Every trade was located in the basement of the houses or in　　 the side thoroughfares; and the sun shone with such heat, and the　　 air was so close, that one seemed to be in an oven full of beetles,　　 cockchafers, bees and flies, all humming and buzzing together.

　　 Jurgen scarcely knew where he was or which way he went.

Then he saw just in front of him the great doorway of a cathedral; the lights were gleaming in the dark aisles, and the fragrance of incense was wafted towards him.

Even the poorest beggar ventured up the steps into the sanctuary.

Jurgen followed the sailor he was with into the church, and stood in the sacred edifice.

Coloured pictures gleamed from their golden background, and on the altar stood the figure of the Virgin with the child Jesus, surrounded by lights and flowers; priests in festive robes were chanting, and choir boys in dazzling attire swung　　 silver censers.

What splendour and magnificence he saw there!

It　　 streamed in upon his soul and overpowered him: the church and the　　 faith of his parents surrounded him, and touched a chord in his　　 heart that caused his eyes to overflow with tears.

　　  They went from the church to the market-place.

Here a quantity　　 of provisions were given him to carry.

The way to the harbour was　　 long; and weary and overcome with various emotions, he rested for a　　 few moments before a splendid house, with marble pillars, statues, and broad steps.

Here he rested his burden against the wall.

Then a porter in livery came out, lifted up a silver-headed cane, and drove him away- him, the grandson of that house.

But no one knew that, and he just as little as any one.

Then he went on board again, and once more encountered rough words and blows, much work and little sleep-such was his experience of life.

They say it is good to suffer in　　 one's young days, if age brings something to make up for it.

　　 His period of service on board the ship came to an end, and the　　 vessel lay once more at Ringkjobing in Jutland.

He came ashore, and　　 went home to the sand-dunes near Hunsby; but his foster-mother had　　 died during his absence.

　　 A hard winter followed this summer.

Snow-storms swept over land　　 and sea, and there was difficulty in getting from one place to　　 another.

How unequally things are distributed in this world!

Here　　 there was bitter cold and snow-storms, while in Spain there was　　 burning sunshine and oppressive heat.

Yet, when a clear frosty day　　 came, and Jurgen saw the swans flying in numbers from the sea　　 towards the land, across to Norre-Vosborg, it seemed to him that　　 people could breathe more freely here; the summer also in this part of　　 the world was splendid.

In imagination he saw the heath blossom and　　 become purple with rich juicy berries, and the elder-bushes and　　 lime-trees at Norre Vosborg in flower.

He made up his mind to go there again.

　　 Spring came, and the fishing began.

Jurgen was now an active　　 helper in this, for he had grown during the last year, and was quick　　 at work.

He was full of life, and knew how to swim, to tread water,　　 and to turn over and tumble in the strong tide.

They often warned　　 him to beware of the sharks, which seize the best swimmer, draw him　　 down, and devour him; but such was not to be Jurgen's fate.

　　 At a neighbour's house in the dunes there was a boy named　　 Martin, with whom Jurgen was on very friendly terms, and they both　　 took service in the same ship to Norway, and also went together to　　 Holland.

They never had a quarrel, but a person can be easily　　 excited to quarrel when he is naturally hot tempered, for he often　　 shows it in many ways; and this is just what Jurgen did one day when　　 they fell out about the merest trifle.

They were sitting behind the　　 cabin door, eating from a delft plate, which they had placed between　　 them.

Jurgen held his pocket-knife in his hand and raised it towards　　 Martin, and at the same time became ashy pale, and his eyes had an　　 ugly look.

Martin only said, "Ah!

ah!

you are one of that sort, are　　 you?

Fond of using the knife!

"　　 The words were scarcely spoken, when Jurgen's hand sank down.

He　　 did not answer a syllable, but went on eating, and afterwards returned　　 to his work.

When they were resting again he walked up to Martin and　　 said:　　 "Hit me in the face!

I deserve it.

But sometimes I feel as if I　　 had a pot in me that boils over.

"　　 "There, let the thing rest," replied Martin.

　　 And after that they were almost better friends than ever; when　　 afterwards they returned to the dunes and began telling their　　 adventures, this was told among the rest.

Martin said that Jurgen　　 was certainly passionate, but a good fellow after all.

　　 They were both young and healthy, well-grown and strong; but　　 Jurgen was the cleverer of the two.

　　 In Norway the peasants go into the mountains and take the cattle　　 there to find pasture.

On the west coast of Jutland huts have been　　 erected among the sand-hills; they are built of pieces of wreck, and　　 thatched with turf and heather; there are sleeping places round the　　 walls, and here the fishermen live and sleep during the early　　 spring.

Every fisherman has a female helper, or manager as she is　　 called, who baits his hooks, prepares warm beer for him when he　　 comes ashore, and gets the dinner cooked and ready for him by the time he comes back to the hut tired and hungry.

Besides this the managers bring up the fish from the boats, cut them open, prepare them, and have generally a great deal to do.

　　 Jurgen, his father, and several other fishermen and their managers　　 inhabited the same hut; Martin lived in the next one.

　　 One of the girls, whose name was Else, had known Jurgen from　　 childhood; they were glad to see each other, and were of the same　　 opinion on many points, but in appearance they were entirely opposite; for he was dark, and she was pale, and fair, and had flaxen hair, and eyes as blue as the sea in sunshine.

　　 As they were walking together one day, Jurgen held her hand very　　 firmly in his, and she said to him:　　 "Jurgen, I have something I want to say to you; let me be your　　 manager, for you are like a brother to me; but Martin, whose　　 housekeeper I am- he is my lover- but you need not tell this to the　　 others.

"　　 It seemed to Jurgen as if the loose sand was giving way under　　 his feet.

He did not speak a word, but nodded his head, and that meant "yes.

" It was all that was necessary; but he suddenly felt in his　　 heart that he hated Martin, and the more he thought the more he felt　　 convinced that Martin had stolen away from him the only being he　　 ever loved, and that this was Else: he had never thought of Else in　　 this way before, but now it all became plain to him.

　　 When the sea is rather rough, and the fishermen are coming home in　　 their great boats, it is wonderful to see how they cross the reefs.

　　 One of them stands upright in the bow of the boat, and the others　　 watch him sitting with the oars in their hands.

Outside the reef it　　 looks as if the boat was not approaching land but going back to sea;　　 then the man who is standing up gives them the signal that the great　　 wave is coming which is to float them across the reef.

The boat is　　 lifted high into the air, so that the keel is seen from the shore; the　　 next moment nothing can be seen, mast, keel, and people are all　　 hidden- it seems as though the sea had devoured them; but in a few　　 moments they emerge like a great sea animal climbing up the waves, and the oars move as if the creature had legs.

The second and third reef are passed in the same manner; then the fishermen jump into the　　 water and push the boat towards the shore- every wave helps them-　　 and at length they have it drawn up, beyond the reach of the breakers.

　　 A wrong order given in front of the reef- the slightest hesitation- and the boat would be lost, "Then it would be all over with me and Martin too!

" This thought passed through Jurgen's mind one day while they　　 were out at sea, where his foster-father had been taken suddenly　　 ill.

The fever had seized him.

They were only a few oars' strokes from　　 the reef, and Jurgen sprang from his seat and stood up in the bow.

　　 "Father-let me come!

" he said, and he glanced at Martin and across　　 the waves; every oar bent with the exertions of the rowers as the　　 great wave came towards them, and he saw his father's pale face, and　　 dared not obey the evil impulse that had shot through his brain.

The　　 boat came safely across the reef to land; but the evil thought　　 remained in his heart, and roused up every little fibre of　　 bitterness which he remembered between himself and Martin since they had known each other.

But he could not weave the fibres together, nor did he endeavour to do so.

He felt that Martin had robbed him, and this was enough to make him hate his former friend.

Several of the fishermen saw this, but Martin did not- he remained as obliging and talkative as ever, in fact he talked rather too much.

　　 Jurgen's foster-father took to his bed, and it became his death-bed, for he died a week afterwards; and now Jurgen was heir to the little hous【英语童话故事A STORY FROM THE SAND-HILLS查看网站：[db:时间]】