IN THE STATE OF DENMARK 107 



We were sorry to leave Aarhus, with its clanking 

 troops of light blue eavalry, and its ceaseless clatter 

 of wooden shoes over the implacable paving-stones, 

 but our regret would have been many shades deeper 

 had we, while there, been given anything on which to 

 bestow our wardrobes except a long pole with a 

 crown on the top, and had we not been required to 

 sleep beneath billowy bags of feathers. But these 

 things seem to be the inalienable custom of hotels 

 in Northern Europe, and are perhaps survivals of a 

 time when something handy for hanging scalps on 

 was sufficient furniture for the prehistoric guest- 

 chamber, and something speedy and simple in the 

 way of bedclothes was essential for occasions when it 

 became advisable to terminate the guest unosten- 

 tatiously. 



At twelve o'clock the low hills and the beech-woods 

 were gradually shutting out the red roofs of Aarhus 

 from us, as we crept south along the coast in a branch 

 railway, and the faces of our fellow-travellers in the 

 third-class carriage were becoming almost rigid in 

 their unbroken gaze at us. It was not surprise — 

 there were no prying and self-conscious side-glances ; 

 it was merely a whole-souled, full-eyed interest, as 

 unwavering and as far removed from intentional 

 rudeness as the gaze of dogs during afternoon tea. 

 As, one by one, our audience and their baskets got 

 out, and were left behind in the leisurely bustle of 

 the little country stations, a tangible weight seemed 

 removed from our consciousness ; it even became 

 possible to eat fat, greeny-yellow plums, embarrass- 

 ingly full of juice, under the unswerving eyes of the 

 last two market-women, a mother and daughter, 

 stiffening as they sat through unbroken miles of 

 silence. 



The seaside village of Hou (pronounced " How," 



