The crowd at length streamed from the church; the fiery-red and grass-green aprons glittered; but the mass of human beings became thicker, and closer, and pressed forward.  The white head-dresses, the white band over the forehead, and the white sleeves, were the prevailing colours—­it looked like a long procession in Catholic countries.  There was again life and motion on the road; the over-filled boats again rowed away; one waggon drove off after the other; but yet there were people left behind.  Married and unmarried men stood in groups in the broad street of Lacksand, from the church up to the inn.  I was staying there, and I must acknowledge that my Danish tongue sounded quite foreign to them all.  I then tried the Swedish, and the girl at the inn assured me that she understood me better than she had understood the Frenchman, who the year before had spoken French to her.

As I sit in my room, my hostess’s grand-daughter, a nice little child, comes in, and is pleased to see my parti-coloured carpet-bag, my Scotch plaid, and the red leather lining of the portmanteau.  I directly cut out for her, from a sheet of white paper, a Turkish mosque, with minarets and open windows, and away she runs with it—­so happy, so happy!

Shortly after, I heard much loud talking in the yard, and I had a presentiment that it was concerning what I had cut out; I therefore stepped softly out into the balcony, and saw the grandmother standing below, and with beaming face, holding my clipped-out paper at arm’s length.  A whole crowd of Dalecarlians, men and women, stood around, all in artistic ecstacy over my work; but the little girl—­the sweet little child—­screamed, and stretched out her hands after her lawful property, which she was not permitted to keep, as it was too fine.

I sneaked in again, yet, of course, highly flattered and cheered; but a moment after there was a knocking at my door:  it was the grandmother, my hostess, who came with a whole plate full of spice-nuts.

“I bake the best in all Dalecarlia,” said she; “but they are of the old fashion, from my grandmother’s time.  You cut out so well, Sir, should you not be able to cut me out some new fashions?”

And I sat the whole of Midsummer night, and clipped fashions for spice-nuts.  Nutcrackers with knights’ boots, windmills which were both mill and miller—­but in slippers, and with the door in the stomach—­and ballet-dancers that pointed with one leg towards the seven stars.  Grandmother got them, but she turned the ballet-dancers up and down; the legs went too high for her; she thought that they had one leg and three arms.

“They will be new fashions,” said she; “but they are difficult.”

FAITH AND KNOWLEDGE.

* * * * *