e most singular thing was, that
every time she bent her head aside, she peeped out into the court, where
at the moment nothing was to be seen (for the gamekeeper stood too close
under the window to be visible) but the wooden horse and the new
writing-lad, who, the instant he entered the office, had placed himself
at the open window. That this latter, notwithstanding the predicate
"writing-lad," was a remarkably handsome youth, it may seem strange to
say, for, in the first place, he had a large scar above his cheek, and,
in the second, he was clad wholly and solely as a writing-lad. It is
needless to stay my narrative in portraying the mother of Froeken Mette,
the good Fru[11] Kirsten, who was sitting in another window, and, with a
smile of satisfaction, observing the amorous play of the two young
people. The good old lady could with the greater reason rejoice at this
match, as, from the beginning, it was entirely her own work. She had, as
her gracious spouse in his hunting dialect jocosely expressed it, among
a whole herd of Junkers scented out the fattest, and stuck a ticket on
his foot. As the young gentleman was an only son, the heir to Palstrup,
as well as many other lordships, the match was soon settled between the
parents, and then announced to their children. The bridegroom, who was
just returned from Paris when Fru Kirsten, in her husband's phraseology,
took him by the horn, was perfectly well inclined to the match, for
which no thanks were due to him, as Froeken Mette was young, beautiful,
an only child, and heiress to Ansbjerg, the deer, wild-boars, and
pheasants of which were as good as those of Palstrup, while with respect
to heath-fowl and ducks it was vastly superior. As to the bride, she was
so completely under subjection to the will of her parents, that for the
present we may leave it doubtful how far her own inclination was
favourable to the Junker. We know, indeed, that the female heart usually
prefers choosing for itself, and often rejects a suitor for no other
reason than because he was chosen by the parents; though if Junker Kai
had been first in the field we should not have been under any
apprehension on his account.

When the keeper had recounted all his misfortunes, which he did not
venture to conceal, as both the writing-lad and his guide, and probably
also the deer-stealer himself, would have made it known, the harsh
master, whose anger often bordered on frenzy, broke forth into the most
hearty