En Klapjagt Paa Danske Fjelde. 153 



by the wayside told of the beginning of 

 their day. Flocks of sparrows were al- 

 ready feeding in the stubble, and their 

 chirrups sounded clear and loud through 

 the crisp morning air. The white frost 

 on the fences sparkled on the eastern side 

 of the way, and the heavy-framed laborers 

 with wooden shoes, carrying agricultural 

 implements on their shoulders, bowed po- 

 litely to us as they passed on their way to 

 work. Broad meadows stretched out to 

 the right and to the left. Fields of yellow 

 wheat stubble, of green and gray turnips, 

 and of red cabbage dotted the hillsides. 

 Here and there stood a dark Norway 

 spruce tree or a clump of beech trees. The 

 air felt just as Pennsylvania air feels, and 

 the groups of apple and pear and cherry 

 trees might just as well have been stand- 

 ing in somebody's back yard in Massa- 

 chusetts ; but nevertheless there was a 

 something different, an indescribable for- 

 eignness about the scenery which im- 

 pressed me constantly and pleasantly. 



My enthusiastic companion, who spoke 

 no English, and whom I constantly ad- 



