and hard by was the town of Roskilde (Hroar's
Fountain). And up the hill, on a broad highway, went all the kings and
queens of Denmark, wearing golden crowns; hand in hand they passed on
into the church, and the deep music of the organ mingled with the clear
rippling of the fountain. For nearly all the kings and queens of Denmark
lie buried in this beautiful church. And little Tuk saw and heard it
all.

"Don't forget the towns," said King Hroar.

Then all vanished; though where it went he knew not. It seemed like
turning the leaves of a book.

And now there stood before him an old peasant woman from Soroe, the quiet
little town where grass grows in the very market place. Her green linen
apron was thrown over her head and back, and the apron was very wet, as
if it had been raining heavily.

"And so it has," she said. And she told a great many pretty things from
Holberg's comedies, and recited ballads about Waldemar and Absalon; for
Holberg had founded an academy in her native town.

All at once she cowered down and rocked her head as if she were a frog
about to spring. "Koax!" cried she; "it is wet, it is always wet, and it
is as still as the grave in Soroe." She had changed into a frog. "Koax!"
and again she was an old woman. "One must dress according to the
weather," she said.

"It is wet! it is wet! My native town is like a bottle; one goes in at
the cork, and by the cork one must come out. In old times we had the
finest of fish; now we have fresh, rosy-cheeked boys at the bottom of
the bottle. There they learn wisdom--Greek, Greek, and Hebrew! Koax!"

It sounded exactly as if frogs were croaking, or as if some one were
walking over the great swamp with heavy boots. So tiresome was her tone,
all on the same note, that little Tuk fell fast asleep; and a very good
thing it was for him.

But even in sleep there came a dream, or whatever else it may be called.
His little sister Gustava, with her blue eyes and flaxen ringlets, was
grown into a tall, beautiful girl, who, though she had no wings, could
fly; and away they now flew over Seeland--over its green woods and blue
waters.

"Hark! Do you hear the cock crow, little Tuk? 'Cock-a-doodle-do!' The
fowls are flying hither from Kjoege, and you shall have a farmyard, a
great, great poultry yard of your own! You shall never suffer hunger or
want. The golden goose, the bird of good omen, shall be yours; you shall
become a rich and happy man. Your house shall rise up