t whatever my own wishes are, I must obey hers."

"What sort of person is your mother?" asked Helga.

"The best and kindest," replied Hardy, as he took a photograph out of
his pocket-book and handed her, which Helga looked at with evident
interest.

"I feel what you say of her is true," said Helga. "Little father, it
is a noble face."

"It is like you, Hardy," said the Pastor. "She must have been
handsome."

"Yes, but she is," said Hardy. "Here is a photograph of her picture at
twenty-two;" and he handed the Pastor another photograph.

Helga looked over her father's shoulder. "It is lovely!" she said,
with warmth. "It is more like you, Herr Hardy, than the other."

"As you like the photographs, Froken," said Hardy, "keep them; it is
seldom a compliment is so well uttered."

CHAPTER XVII.

"_Viator._--That will not be above a day longer; but
if I live till May come twelvemonth, you are sure of me again,
either with my Master Walton or without him."
--_The Complete Angler._

The next morning, John Hardy was up early, studying the excellent map
of Jutland by Oberst Mansa. It gives the roads and by-ways with much
care and correctness. The idea had occurred to him to drive the
hundred and odd English miles from the parsonage to Esbjerg. The
horses must be sent there to meet the steamer; the weather was
settled, and as it was early in August, the early mornings and
evenings were pleasant He accordingly sketched out the route, with the
distances from one little Jutland town to another, and it was clear a
good deal could be seen and the drive would be enjoyable.

Hardy came down to the little reception-room, where breakfast was
usually served, and opened out Mansa's map on the table. Froken Helga
was there, and her two brothers, Karl and Axel.

"I want to speak to your sister, boys," said Hardy; "you will hear all
about it by-and-by, if you will go out for a while."

The boys left. Helga looked a little startled. Hardy said, "I have an
extraordinary proposition to make; but you must not look so
frightened." Helga had turned pale, her knitting dropped. "I only want
your attention to this map of Jutland," added Hardy. He saw her face
was now full of colour; but what about the map of Jutland? Hardy, an
inconsistent man for the moment, was thinking of who else in the world
but Kapellan Holm, and his being at Vandstrup Praestegaard all the
winter, and that was not the map of Jutland. Sudden