Jorgen and his foster parents went past this castle. they had told him its story during thelong winter evenings， and now he saw the stately edifice， with its double moat， and treesand bushes; the wall， covered with ferns， rose within the moat， but the lofty lime-treeswere the most beautiful of all; they GREw up to the highest windows， and the air was full oftheir sweet fragrance. In a north-west corner of the garden stood a great bush full ofblossom， like winter snow amid the summer's green; it was a juniper bush， the first thatJorgen had ever seen in bloom. He never forgot it， nor the lime-trees; the child's soultreasured up these memories of beauty and fragrance to gladden the old man.
From Norre-Vosborg， where the juniper blossomed， the journey became more pleasant，for they met some other people who were also going to the funeral and were riding in waggons.Our travellers had to sit all together on a little box at the back of the waggon， but even this，they thought， was better than walking. So they continued their journey across the ruggedheath. The oxen which drew the waggon stopped every now and then， where a patch of freshgrass appeared amid the heather. The sun shone with considerable heat， and it waswonderful to behold how in the far distance something like smoke seemed to be rising; yet thissmoke was clearer than the air; it was transparent， and looked like rays of light rolling anddancing afar over the heath.
“That is Lokeman driving his sheep，” said some one.
And this was enough to excite Jorgen's imagination. He felt as if they were now about toenter fairyland， though everything was still real. How quiet it was! The heath stretched farand wide around them like a beautiful carpet. The heather was in blossom， and the juniper-bushes and fresh oak saplings rose like bouquets from the earth. An inviting place for afrolic， if it had not been for the number of poisonous adders of which the travellers spoke;they also mentioned that the place had formerly been infested with wolves， and that thedistrict was still called Wolfsborg for this reason. The old man who was driving the oxen toldthem that in the lifetime of his father the horses had many a hard battle with the wild beaststhat were now exterminated. One morning， when he himself had gone out to bring in thehorses， he found one of them standing with its forefeet on a wolf it had killed， but thesavage animal had torn and lacerated the brave horse's legs.
the journey over the heath and the deep sand was only too quickly at an end. Theystopped before the house of mourning， where they found plenty of guests within and without.Waggon after waggon stood side by side， while the horses and oxen had been turned out tograze on the scanty pasture. GREat sand-hills like those at home by the North Sea rosebehind the house and extended far and wide. How had they come here， so many milesinland? They were as large and high as those on the coast， and the wind had carried themthere; there was also a legend attached to them.
Psalms were sung， and a few of the old people shed tears; with this exception， theguests were cheerful enough， it seemed to Jorgen， and there was plenty to eat and drink.There were eels of the fattest， requiring brandy to bury them， as the eel-breeder said; andcertainly they did not forget to carry out his maxim here.
Jorgen went in and out the house; and on the third day he felt as much at home as he didin the fisherman's cottage among the sand-hills， where he had passed his early days. Here onthe heath were riches unknown to him until now; for flowers， blackberries， and bilberrieswere to be found in profusion， so large and sweet that when they were crushed beneath thetread of passers-by the heather was stained with their red juice. Here was a barrow and yonderanother. Then columns of smoke rose into the still air; it was a heath fire， they told him—howbrightly it blazed in the dark evening!
the fourth day came， and the funeral festivities were at an end; they were to go backfrom the land-dunes to the sand-dunes.
“Ours are better，” said the old fisherman， Jorgen's foster-father; “these have nostrength.”
And they spoke of the way in which the sand-dunes had come inland， and it seemed veryeasy to understand. This is how they explained it：
A dead body had been found on the coast， and the peasants buried it in the churchyard.From that time the sand began to fly about and the sea broke in with violence. A wise man inthe district advised them to open the grave and see if the buried man was not lying suckinghis thumb， for if so he must be a sailor， and the sea would not rest until it had got himback. The grave was opened， and he really was found with his thumb in his mouth. So theylaid him upon a cart， and harnessed two oxen to it; and the oxen ran off with the sailor overheath and moor to the ocean， as if they had been stung by an adder. Then the sand ceased tofly inland， but the hills that had been piled up still remained.
All this Jorgen listened to and treasured up in his memory of the happiest days of hischildhood—the days of the burial feast.