he girl showed Ib that she had still
the two nuts which he had given her long ago, during their wanderings
in the forest; and she told him, moreover, that in a drawer she had
carefully kept the little wooden shoes which he had carved as a
present for her in their childish days. And thereupon they parted.

Ib was confirmed. But he remained in his mother's house, for he had
become a clever maker of wooden shoes, and in summer he looked after
the field. He did it all alone, for his mother kept no farm-servant,
and his father had died long ago.

Only seldom he got news of Christine from some passing postillion or
eel-fisher. But she was well off at the rich innkeeper's; and after
she had been confirmed, she wrote a letter to her father, and sent a
kind message to Ib and his mother; and in the letter there was mention
made of certain linen garments and a fine new gown, which Christine
had received as a present from her employers. This was certainly good
news.

Next spring, there was a knock one day at the door of our Ibis old
mother, and behold, the boatman and Christine stepped into the room.
She had come on a visit to spend a day: a carriage had to come from
the Herning Inn to the next village, and she had taken the opportunity
to see her friends once again. She looked as handsome as a real lady,
and she had a pretty gown on, which had been well sewn, and made
expressly for her. There she stood, in grand array, and Ib was in his
working clothes. He could not utter a word: he certainly seized her
hand, and held it fast in his own, and was heartily glad; but he could
not get his tongue to obey him. Christine was not embarrassed,
however, for she went on talking and talking, and, moreover, kissed Ib
on his mouth in the heartiest manner.

"Did you know me again directly, Ib?" she asked; but even afterwards,
when they were left quite by themselves, and he stood there still
holding her hand in his, he could only say:

"You look quite like a real lady, and I am so uncouth. How often I
have thought of you, Christine, and of the old times!"

And arm in arm they sauntered up the great ridge, and looked across
the stream towards the heath, towards the great hills overgrown with
bloom. It was perfectly silent; but by the time they parted it had
grown quite clear to him that Christine must be his wife. Had they
not, even in their childhood, been called the betrothed pair? To him
they seemed to be really engaged to each other, th