En Klapjagt Paa Danske Fjelde. 167 



on the thirty-foot-high straw stack by the 

 barn as we approached, and they now sat 

 cawing at us within easy stone shot. 



We are greeted by the children, who 

 pull off their caps politely and then rattle 

 their wooden shoes on the cobbles as they 

 run off to their mammas in the doorways. 

 Strong, handsome, yellow-haired children, 

 with bright faces and clear gray eyes. I 

 looked in at a school window one day and 

 the whole room seemed to be lighted up 

 with a mellow glow of yellow hair. All 

 Danish children have to be strong. The 

 weak ones die off when they try to 

 learn the language, and like Connecticut 

 River shad, only the most robust are able 

 to surmount the difficulties which beset 

 their way. 



Doctor and I, on invitation, step into a 

 simply-furnished room, with white-sanded 

 floor, and sit down by the square table in 

 straight-backed chairs. Our host is de- 

 lighted when he hears that I am a Yankee, 

 and he wishes to bring out the house- 

 hold penatesin bottles. Turning to little 

 Maren, who stands bashfully covering up 



