But to the fisherman's wife these nations seemed all the same， and she consoled herselfwith the thought that the child was baptized as a Christian.
the boy throve; the noble blood in his veins was warm， and he became strong on hishomely fare. He GREw apace in the humble cottage， and the Danish dialect spoken by theWest Jutes became his language. The pomegranate seed from Spain became a hardy plant onthe coast of West Jutland. Thus may circumstances alter the course of a man's life! To thishome he clung with deep-rooted affection; he was to experience cold and hunger， and themisfortunes and hardships that surround the poor; but he also tasted of their joys.
Childhood has bright days for every one， and the memory of them shines through thewhole after-life. The boy had many sources of pleasure and enjoyment; the coast for miles andmiles was full of playthings， for it was a mosaic of pebbles， some red as coral or yellow asamber， and others again white and rounded like birds' eggs and smoothed and prepared bythe sea. Even the bleached fishes' skeletons， the water plants dried by the wind， andseaweed， white and shining long linen-like bands waving between the stones—all theseseemed made to give pleasure and occupation for the boy's thoughts， and he had anintelligent mind; many GREat talents lay dormant in him. How readily he remembered storiesand songs that he heard， and how dexterous he was with his fingers! With stones andmussel-shells he could put together pictures and ships with which one could decorate theroom; and he could make wonderful things from a stick， his foster-mother said， althoughhe was still so young and little. He had a sweet voice， and every melody seemed to flownaturally from his lips. And in his heart were hidden chords， which might have sounded far outinto the world if he had been placed anywhere else than in the fisherman's hut by the NorthSea.
One day another ship was wrecked on the coast， and among other things a chest filledwith valuable flower bulbs was washed ashore. Some were put into saucepans and cooked，for they were thought to be fit to eat， and others lay and shrivelled in the sand—they did notaccomplish their purpose， or unfold their magnificent colours. Would Jorgen fare better?The flower bulbs had soon played their part， but he had years of apprenticeship before him.Neither he nor his friends noticed in what a monotonous， uniform way one day followedanother， for there was always plenty to do and see. The ocean itself was a GREat lesson-book， and it unfolded a new leaf each day of calm or storm—the crested wave or the smoothsurface.
the visits to the church were festive occasions， but among the fisherman's house one wasespecially looked forward to; this was， in fact， the visit of the brother of Jorgen's foster-mother， the eel-breeder from Fjaltring， near Bovbjerg. He came twice a year in a cart，painted red with blue and white tulips upon it， and full of eels; it was covered and locked like abox， two dun oxen drew it， and Jorgen was allowed to guide them.
the eel-breeder was a witty fellow， a merryguest， and brought a measure of brandy with him.They all received a small glassful or a cupful if therewere not enough glasses; even Jorgen had about athimbleful， that he might digest the fat eel， as theeel-breeder said; he always told one story overand over again， and if his hearers laughed he wouldimmediately repeat it to them. Jorgen while still aboy， and also when he was older， used phrasesfrom the eel-breeder's story on various occasions，so it will be as well for us to listen to it. It runsthus：
“the eels went into the bay， and the young ones begged leave to go a little farther out.'Don't go too far，' said their mother; 'the ugly eel-spearer might come and snap you all up.'But they went too far， and of eight daughters only three came back to the mother， and thesewept and said， 'We only went a little way out， and the ugly eel-spearer came immediately andstabbed five of our sisters to death.' 'They'll come back again，' said the mother eel. 'Oh，no，' exclaimed the daughters， 'for he skinned them， cut them in two， and fried them.''Oh， they'll come back again，' the mother eel persisted. 'No，' replied the daughters， 'for heate them up.' 'They'll come back again，' repeated the mother eel. 'But he drank brandy afterthem，' said the daughters. 'Ah， then they'll never come back，' said the mother， and sheburst out crying， 'it's the brandy that buries the eels.'”
“And therefore，” said the eel-breeder in conclusion， “it is always the proper thing todrink brandy after eating eels.”
This story was the tinsel thread， the most humorous recollection of Jorgen's life. Healso wanted to go a little way farther out and up the bay—that is to say， out into the world ina ship—but his mother said， like the eel-breeder， “There are so many bad people—eelspearers!” He wished to go a little way past the sand-hills， out into the dunes， and at lasthe did： four happy days， the brightest of his childhood， fell to his lot， and the wholebeauty and splendour of Jutland， all the happiness and sunshine of his home， wereconcentrated in these. He went to a festival， but it was a burial feast.
A rich relation of the fisherman's family had died; the farm was situated far eastward in thecountry and a little towards the north. Jorgen's foster parents went there， and he also wentwith them from the dunes， over heath and moor， where the Skjarumaa takes its coursethrough GREen meadows and contains many eels; mother eels live there with theirdaughters， who are caught and eaten up by wicked people. But do not men sometimes actquite as cruelly towards their own fellow-men? Was not the knight Sir Bugge murdered bywicked people? And though he was well spoken of， did he not also wish to kill the architectwho built the castle for him， with its thick walls and tower， at the point where the Skjarumaafalls into the bay? Jorgen and his parents now stood there; the wall and the ramparts stillremained， and red crumbling fragments lay scattered around. Here it was that Sir Bugge，after the architect had left him， said to one of his men， “Go after him and say， 'Master，the tower shakes.' If he turns round， kill him and take away the money I paid him， but if hedoes not turn round let him go in peace.” The man did as he was told; the architect did notturn round， but called back “The tower does not shake in the least， but one day a man willcome from the west in a blue cloak—he will cause it to shake!” And so indeed it happened ahundred years later， for the North Sea broke in and cast down the tower; but PredbjornGyldenstjerne， the man who then possessed the castle， built a new castle higher up at theend of the meadow， and that one is standing to this day， and is called Norre-Vosborg.