1 68 En Klapjagt Paa Danske Fjelde. 



two-thirds of her grin with a fold of her 

 mother's dress, I say in my most enticing 

 Danish, " Kom him lille pige, og sit paa 

 mit knae. Jeg skal ikke gjoere digondt." 

 But my pronunciation gives her a terrible 

 fright, and, disappearing from sight in 

 the dress like a young kangaroo in its 

 mamma's waist, she begins to sob. A 

 looking-glass hangs on the wall, together 

 with two or three highly colored litho- 

 graphs representing "The Girl of the 

 Period," "The Old Oaken Bucket" and 

 "The Pleasures of the Country," etc. 

 Several mottoes worked on perforated 

 paper with bright-colored worsted are 

 stuck up here and there, but one can't 

 read the words any better than he can 

 read the same in worsted English. I 

 guess likely they say " God bless our 

 home," and things like that. A large 

 Jerome clock stands on top of the un- 

 painted cupboard in one corner of the 

 room, and from poles overhead are hung 

 dried herbs. A wooden bracket by the 

 looking-glass holds the usual comb, which 

 needs false teeth, and the loose-backed 



