won! gold!" he cried, stretching up his hand with the
glass which glittered in the sunbeams: his hand shook, and the
alchemist's glass fell to the ground shivered into a thousand atoms. The
last bubble of his welfare was shattered too. Whew! whew! fare away! and
away I rushed from the goldmaker's home.

[Illustration: _He lifted it with a trembling hand and shouted with a
trembling voice: 'Gold! gold!'_]

'Late in the year, when the days were short and dark up here, and the
fog envelops the red berries and bare branches with its cold moisture,
I came along in a lively mood clearing the sky and snapping off the dead
boughs. This is no great labour, it is true, yet it has to be done.
Borreby Hall, the home of Waldemar Daa, was having a clean sweep of a
different sort. The family enemy, Ove Ramel from Basness, appeared,
holding the mortgage of the Hall and all its contents. I drummed upon
the cracked window panes, beat against the decaying doors, and whistled
through all the cracks and crannies, whew! I did my best to prevent Herr
Ove taking a fancy to stay there. Ida and Anna Dorothea faced it
bravely, although they shed some tears; Johanna stood pale and erect and
bit her finger till it bled! Much that would help her! Ove Ramel offered
to let them stay on at the Castle for Waldemar Daa's lifetime, but he
got no thanks for his offer; I was listening. I saw the ruined gentleman
stiffen his neck and hold his head higher than ever. I beat against the
walls and the old linden trees with such force that the thickest branch
broke, although it was not a bit rotten. It fell across the gate like a
broom, as if some one was about to sweep; and a sweeping there was
indeed to be. I quite expected it. It was a grievous day and a hard time
for them, but their wills were as stubborn as their necks were stiff.
They had not a possession in the world but the clothes on their backs;
yes, one thing--an alchemist's glass which had been bought and filled
with the fragments scraped up from the floor. The treasure which
promised much and fulfilled nothing. Waldemar Daa hid it in his
bosom, took his staff in his hand, and, with his three daughters, the
once wealthy gentleman walked out of Borreby Hall for the last time. I
blew a cold blast upon his burning cheeks, I fluttered his grey beard
and his long white hair; I sang such a tune as only I could sing. Whew!
whew! away with them! away with them! This was the end of all their
grandeur.

'Ida