tiful summer-dream. When I again sit in Copenhagen,
when the rain patters and the winter approaches with cold and a joyless
sky, I shall still see before me Funen with its green woods, flowers,
and sunshine; it will appear to me that it must still be so there, and
that the garland and bouquet are only withered because they are with me
in the winter cold."

"In Copenhagen we shall meet again!" said Sophie.

"And I shall see you again with the swallows!" said Louise, "when my
flowers spring up again, when we have again warm summer days! As far
as I am concerned, you belong to the summer, and not to the cold, calm
winter."

Early on the following morning was Sophie, after all, at the breakfast
table. That was to honor Otto. Mamma showed herself as the carriage
was at the door. Wilhelm would accompany him as far as Odense. It was,
therefore, a double leave taking, here and there.

"We will always remain friends, faithful friends!" said Wilhelm, when
they parted.

"Faithful friends!" repeated Otto, and they rolled away toward
Middelfart; thus far should mamma's own carriage convey the excellent
Otto. Wilhelm remained behind in Odense; his coachman drove Otto, and
they discoursed upon the way. They passed Vissenberg: the high, wooded
hills there have received the name of the Funen Alps. The legend relates
of robbers who had here deep passages underneath the high-road, where
they hung bells which rang when any one passed above. The inhabitants
are still looked upon with suspicion. Vissenberg appears a kind of Itri,
between Copenhagen and Hamburg. [Author's Note: "Itri," Fra Diavolo's
birthplace, lies in the Neapolitan States, on the highway between
Rome and Naples. The inhabitants are not, without reason, suspected of
carrying on the robber's trade.] Near the church there formerly lay a
stone, on which Knud, the saint, is said to have rested himself when
flying from the rebellious Jutlanders. In the stone remained the
impression of where he had sat; the hard stone had been softer than the
hearts of the rebellious people.

This, and similar legends, the coachman knew how to relate; he was born
in this neighborhood, but not in Vissenberg itself, where they make the
false notes. [Author's Note: A number of years ago a band of men were
seized in Vissenberg who had forged bank-notes.] Every legend gains
in interest when one hears it in the place with which it is connected.
Funen is especially rich in such relations.

"That