ts now stood, and where the river falls into
the bay? The wall on the ramparts still remained, and red crumbling
fragments lay strewn around. Here it was that Sir Bugge, after the
architect had left him, said to one of his men, "Go thou after him,
and say, 'Master, the tower shakes.' If he turns round, you are to
kill him, and take from him the money I paid him; but if he does not
turn round, let him depart in peace." The man obeyed, and the
architect never turned round, but called back, "The tower does not
shake in the least, but one day there will come a man from the west,
in a blue cloak, who will cause it to shake!" And indeed so it
chanced, a hundred years later; for the North Sea broke in, and the
tower was cast down, but the man who then possessed the castle,
Prebjoern Gyldenstjerne, built a new castle higher up, at the end of
the meadow, and that stands to this day, and is called Noerre Vosborg.

Past this castle went Juergen and his foster-parents. They had told him
its story during the long winter evenings, and now he saw the lordly
castle, with its double moat, and trees, and bushes; the wall, covered
with ferns, rose within the moat; but most beautiful of all were the
lofty lime trees, which grew up to the highest windows, and filled the
air with sweet fragrance. In a corner of the garden towards the
north-west stood a great bush full of blossom like winter snow amid
the summer's green: it was a juniper bush, the first that Juergen had
seen thus in bloom. He never forgot it, nor the lime tree: the child's
soul treasured up these remembrances of beauty and fragrance to
gladden the old man.

From Noerre Vosborg, where the juniper blossomed, the way went more
easily; for they encountered other guests who were also bound for the
burial, 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 was
preferable to walking, they thought. So they pursued their journey in
the waggon across the rugged heath. The oxen which drew the vehicle
slipped every now and then, where a patch of fresh grass appeared amid
the heather. The sun shone warm, and it was wonderful to behold how in
the far distance something like smoke seemed to be rising; and yet
this smoke was clearer than the mist; 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 excit