house gives many a lady the boldness to teach that in which
she herself might perhaps have been instructed. Many a lady, like the
Mamsell from Holstebro, dresses always in silk and a long shawl, and
if one asks after her profession one finds it consists at most in
dress-making; perhaps she does not even possess the little accompanying
talent of playing the flute. How many people do not copy, like Maren,
out of other people's memorandum-books, and do not excel musical-boxes!
still one hears a deal of musical snuff-box music, and is waited upon by
voices which are equally as insignificant as the secretary's."

These were pretty much Otto's reflections, and certainly it was a good
feeling which lay at the bottom of them. Let us remember in our judgment
that he was so young, and that he had only known Copenhagen _one_ year;
otherwise he would most certainly have thought _quite differently_.

Night spread itself over the heath, the heavens were clear. Slowly the
carriage wound along through the deep sand. The monotonous sound, the
unchanging motion, all rendered Otto sleepy. A falling star shot like
a fire column across the sky--this woke him for a moment; he soon again
bowed his head and slept, fast and deep. It was an hour past midnight,
when he was awoke by a loud cry. He started up--the fire burnt before
them; and between it and the horse stood two figures, who had taken
hold of the leather reins. Close beside them was a cart, under which was
placed a sort of bed, on which slept a woman and some children.

"Will you drive into the soup-kettle?" asked a rough voice, whilst
another scolded in a gibberish which was unintelligible to Otto.

It had happened to the coachman as to him, only that the coachman had
fallen asleep somewhat later; the horses had lost their track,
and uncertain, as they had long been, they were now traversing the
impassable heath. A troop of the so-called Scavengers, who wander
through these districts a nomadic race, had here taken up their quarters
for the night, had made a fire and hung the kettle over it, to cook some
pieces of a lamb they had stolen on their journey.

"They were about half a mile from the highway," said an elderly woman
who was laying some bushes of heath under the kettle.

"Half a mile?" replied a voice from the other side of the cart, and Otto
remarked a man who, wrapped in a large gray riding-cloak, had stretched
himself out among the heather. "It is not a quarter of a mile