The Danish peasant’s idea of amusement is to walk leisurely to the place of rendezvous, to sit quietly and rest from his week’s hard work, eat plenty of Smoerrebrod (sandwiches), drink barrels of beer, have tobacco ad libitum, and finally to leave as lazily as he came.

This feast was going to be otherwise.  Everything was to be done a l’Americaine.  The Fourth fell on a Sunday, and the farmers all accepted and came on the stroke of the clock, dressed in their Sunday-best clothes, which are of heavy broadcloth, made in the fashion of Louis Philippe, voluminous over the hips, thick, heavy-soled boots, and with long snake-like pipes hanging from their mouths.

Howard had arranged all sorts of gymkhana sports, for which prizes were to be given.  There were to be the long jump, the high jump, a running-race, catching the greased pig, pole-climbing, a race in a bag, and so forth.

“They shall have a high old time,” said Howard.

Their dismay only equaled their astonishment when they were told what was expected of them.  What!  Jump, run, and be tied up in bags and climb poles?  Was this the way that they were going to amuse themselves on this hot day?  Were soiling their clothes, perspiring, and suffering tortures in their tight boots the delightful, reposeful feast they had been invited to?  Their inborn politeness would not allow them to do otherwise than obey the wishes of their host.  They tried their best to perform the feats put down on the program.

Their week’s work of mowing, cutting trees, plowing, threshing, and the different things belonging to a farmer’s life seemed child’s play compared with this so-called enjoyment.

They did not understand why they got prizes for deeds they had not done, and received the box of cigars or silver mug with unperturbed serenity.

Consternation and resignation were the only expressions on their faces.  Neither did they understand when they were told to cry “Hurrah!” and wave their hats after Howard should finish his oration.  That he made standing on a table.  He expatiated on the beauty of liberty and the soul-inspiring feeling of independence, and became quite eloquent.  They cheered in a spiritless and cheerless manner.  For them liberty was a high-sounding word which meant nothing.  An enlightened government provided them with all they needed.  Why have the bother to choose your doctor or your priest when all that is done for you?  Only to pay taxes.  Can anything be more simple?

The games H. tried to teach them were not successful.  They stood in a circle and were told (Howard rubbed his hands in a dainty manner) that “this is the way we wash our clothes.”  This did not appeal to them; they knew too well how they washed theirs, and they saw no fun in imitating such every-day affairs as washing and ironing.

Every way “we did” things had to be explained at length and translated into Danish.  And the most inexplicable of all the games was “Oranges and lemons.”  When they were asked if they wanted oranges or lemons; they all answered, truthfully and conscientiously, “Oranges.”  Who in his senses would prefer a sour lemon to a juicy orange?  The result was that the battle was very one-sided—­all oranges and only one lemon.