120 STRAY -AW AYS 



been " good-bye," but the intention to say the right 

 thing was none the less sincere. 



That afternoon he and his baritone were imported to 

 the villa, and the pleasant drawing-rooms were filled 

 with Danish music, sung with boyish sympathy and 

 the ease of abundant compass. The French windows 

 stood open above the sea, where the tide lay silent 

 against the dumb sand margin and the seaweed border ; 

 the wind had fallen again to a mere eavesdropping 

 about the doorways, and the melodies rose up incarnate 

 against the listening Baltic. It was a more, peaceable 

 music than the Norwegian, and partook a little of 

 the national despondency, but the northern virility 

 was in it, a directness born of power and unshaken by 

 its own tears. The aching patriotism of a beaten 

 country may hide itself in philosophy or resignation, 

 but its music will tell of the wounded spirit that 

 cannot be healed, and when Danish music is combined 

 with a recent study of Danish history, it can make mere 

 Irish visitors into partisans and sympathisers of quite 

 singular fervour and futility. 



At eight o'clock next morning we were on our way 

 to church, that is to say, we were picking our way 

 among the rusty rails and heaps of coal at the terminus 

 of the branch railway, and dodging the engine in its 

 rambles among the grassy sidings. Church was at 

 Odder, two or three stations off across the prairie 

 pastures, a clean, quiet town, or rather an immensely 

 long stretch of paved road, bordered by villas with 

 gardens full of ripe fruit, and by excessively respectable 

 shops with a remarkable prevalence of photographers. 

 It is said to be the longest street in Denmark, and after 

 walking over its stupendous pavement in patent- 

 leather shoes for some twenty minutes the statement 

 seemed reliable. The white tower of the church was 

 visible afar, topped with a steep red roof and quaint 



