"Piscator. Good morrow, sir! What, up and dressed so early!
"Viator. Yes, sir. I have been dressed this half hour, for I rested so well and have so great a mind either to take or to see a trout taken in your fine river that I could no longer lie a-bed.
"Piscator. I am glad to see you so brisk this morning and so eager of sport, though I must tell you, this day proves so calm, and the sun rises so bright, as promises no great success to the angler; but however, we will try, and one way or the other, we shall sure do something."—The Complete Angler.

Kirstin, the elder of Pastor Karl Lindar's women servants, was about forty-five—a large-framed woman with a hard face. She possessed, in common with the Jutland lower class, a shrewd sense, yet highly suspicious, but at the bottom strong good nature. She had been with Pastor Lindal more than twenty years, and her devotion to him and his was complete. At all times she gave her advice, whether asked or unasked, on every topic, and materially assisted in economizing the pastor's narrow income. Her work was done with the exactitude of a clock, neat and precise; and if the work in the house was by any cause increased, she rose earlier and went to bed later, rejoicing in her capacity for work and usefulness. The influence her steady character had in the house was great, and on the Pastor's daughter, FrØken Helga's leaving an educational institution at Copenhagen, Kirstin's strict sense of duty created an impression that FrØken Helga never lost. She awoke to the fact of what her duty was—that it was to her father and his home. Kirstin's manner was not kindly, and she could give sharp answers, but the woman's kindly nature often showed itself in a strong light. Outside the Pastor's house she was respected and liked, and always went by the name of PrÆsten's Kirstin.

At half-past five the morning of the day after John Hardy's arrival at the parsonage, Kirstin knocked at the door of his room, and brought in the accustomed coffee and its belongings.

John Hardy was dressed, as he was always an early riser, and was attaching two large Irish lake trout flies to a stronger casting line than he had selected the night before.

"Morn," said Kirstin. "I tell the gentleman that Karl and Axel have had coffee. Has the gentleman anything to command?"

"Tell them I am ready to go fishing," said Hardy; "but if we catch any trout and the trout are in the kitchen by ten o'clock, can we have them cooked for breakfast?"

"If the gentleman's fish are there, the frying-pan is ready," replied Kirstin; "but the Herr Pastor would not wish the gentleman to be without a breakfast."

It was clear Kirstin doubted a trout breakfast's possibility. John Hardy began to doubt too; but he took his fishing-rod, a light sixteen-foot fly rod, and called the two boys, who rushed into his room eager to a degree.

"Herr Hardy," said Axel, "they all say you will catch nothing—do you think you will?"

The anxiety in the boy's face amused Hardy, who gave him the fishing-bag to carry, and his brother Karl the landing-net.

John Hardy went to the bridge close to the parsonage, and looked up the river. The country was flat, chiefly arable land, with meadows here and there of coarse grass. The river had a peaty colour, and resembled in its flow some portions of the Thames.

"Do you know where the deepest water is up the river, boys?" inquired Hardy.

"Up by the tile works," said the boys both at once, "and above that it is not deep."

Hardy walked up the towing-path, keeping his eye on the river, but not a trout moved. He saw the abundance of bleak and smaller fish, and it occurred to him that it was easy to account for the non-success of the fly-fishers in the Gudenaa. The fish would not be often feeding, as trout food existed in such quantity; and besides, to a voracious trout a plump little fish was more acceptable than an ephemera. If there were any fish feeding they would be in the shallows.

Hardy tried small trout flies, but without success; not a fish moved, and the boys' faces had a disappointed look. He changed his casting line for the one with the Irish lake trout flies, and was soon fast in a trout. This Karl, in his excitement to get into the landing-net, nearly lost, but Hardy let the fish have line, and then drew it again within reach of the landing-net. This fish was full of food, and corroborated the Pastor's statement. The trout resembles the Hampshire trout, but the colours were more brightly painted. Hardy fished steadily for two hours, with the result of landing eight trout averaging a pound each, to the boys' intense delight. Kirstin and their father had both doubted Hardy, but there were the fish and could be cooked for breakfast. The boys never doubted Hardy after.

"Axel, little man," said John Hardy, "run to the kitchen with the fish, and tell Kirstin that the Englishman wants to know if the frying-pan is ready."

Axel was off like a hare.

When Karl and Hardy reached the parsonage, the Pastor was at the door. "I see no fish," said he, "and I am glad I did not lead you to expect any success in that direction."

"We have not been very successful," said Hardy, quietly taking down his rod. "A knowledge of the habits of the fish in different rivers, and a knowledge of the rivers is necessary, and this an intimate acquaintance only gives."

"Yes, but, father," put in Kari, "Herr Hardy has caught a lot; he would not let us keep the small ones, but kept eight of the biggest. Axel has ran on with them. Kirstin told me the frying-pan would be ready, but not the gentleman's fish."

When John Hardy was called to breakfast—a Danish breakfast corresponds much to an early English lunch—he found Karl and Axel's tongues wagging like a dog's tail at dinner-time, they were so full of the fishing. They had caught a few roach in the river, and about once in a moon a trout, and John Hardy's completer knowledge had impressed them. Hardy bowed to FrØken Helga, and would have shaken hands, but she pointed to a seat, and Hardy sat down. The Pastor said grace, and attacked the trout with much appreciation of their merits.

"We tried to cast a line out, father, with Herr Hardy's rod," said Axel, "but could not, the line fell all of a heap, while Herr Hardy threw it a long way; it hovered over the water for a second, and fell slowly on the water. The flies appeared like live insects."

"You know, father," put in Karl, "the wider shallow in the river above the tile works? I saw a trout rise there, and pointed it out to Herr Hardy, He watched it, and when the trout rose again he walked straight into the river and caught it by a long cast. It was the biggest fish." "I have undertaken to teach you two boys English," said Hardy; "and if you will try and learn, I will teach you how to fish and give you rods and flies as well."

"A thousand thanks, Herr Hardy," said Karl and Axel, with delight.

"You have already prepared the way for performing your part of our contract, Herr Hardy," said the Pastor; "I can only hope I shall execute mine so well. With the boys' hearts in the work the rest is easy;" and Pastor Lindal regarded his manly and self-possessed guest with interest.

John Hardy could now in the full light of a day in May consider Pastor Lindal; his age was apparently over fifty, his features were clear cut and handsome, his eyes blue, and his hair had been a light-brown. There was an impression of probity about him that struck Hardy forcibly. His manner was a trifle awkward to Hardy's notion, but it was kindly. His daughter Helga was like her father. Her complexion was clear and her voice musical. Her manner was, Hardy thought, not refined. It was simple and straightforward, and to John Hardy she appeared to want the ladylike tone of an English lady. The two boys Karl and Axel were like English lads of the same age, frank and open, and Hardy liked them.

The Pastor had his pipe in full glow—his daughter had filled it—and Hardy, taught by his experience of the previous evening, lit a cigar. The Pastor said that he had his duties to attend to, and some of his parish children as he called them to visit, and that his daughter Helga had also her visits to make. Hardy replied that he should write to his mother and some business letters, and if dinner was at four, as the Pastor had intimated, that he should like to fish in the evening, to relieve Kirstin's doubts as to whether the frying-pan would be wanted for breakfast on the morrow by catching some trout the night before.

"And you will take us, Herr Hardy?" said Karl and Axel with some anxiety.

"Come to my room at three," said Hardy; "I will begin to teach you how to fish. I have a lighter fly rod, and we will prepare the tackle."

After dinner John Hardy and the boys went to the river. Hardy had a sixteen-foot minnow rod, and put up a twelve-foot fly rod for the boys, and showed them how to cast it. They took it in turns, and Karl caught a trout. Hardy waded the shallows, fishing with a minnow, and the trout for an hour were on the feed. The largest trout he caught was over three pounds, and seventeen weighed nineteen pounds, by Hardy's English spring balance.

John Hardy changed his clothes and came down to the room occupied by Pastor Lindal and his family as a sitting-room, and found FrØken Helga playing on an old piano to the Pastor, who was smoking in his easy chair. She at once ceased.

"We have caught more and larger fish, Herr Pastor," said Hardy; "the fishing in the Gudenaa is good, and any doubt as to there being trout for breakfast, and, if you wish, dinner, to-morrow, is at an end."

"You English are a thorough people," said the Pastor; "whether it be sport or business, science or skill, you are to the front."

"Our faith is that we owe it to our Danish ancestors," said Hardy; "the hard tenacity of the Vikings is what we admire most in history."

"My faith is that it is the free and independent spirit of your institutions for ages," replied the Pastor. "You now enjoy the changes wrought by Cromwell, for which the English people then were ripe. But do light your cigar, and hear a suggestion I have to make for to-morrow. There is an old Danish place near here, called Rosendal. Its special beauty is the idyllic landscape of beech trees, a lake, and a valley where they grow such roses as will resist our Danish climate. The house is an old house, but has been restored by successive owners. The place is visited by people far and near. It is thoroughly Danish, and especially Jydsk (Jutlandsk). It is only two English miles from here, and my daughter Helga's only enthusiasm is Rosendal. She will go with you, with Karl and Axel. Is the walk too far?"

"No, certainly not," said Hardy; "do we go before breakfast or after?"

"Helga, order breakfast earlier," said the Pastor.

"Yes, father," said FrØken Helga; "but is it necessary for me to go to Rosendal, the boys can show Herr Hardy the way?"

"You always like to go there and enjoy it," said her father. "You have been in the house some days preparing to receive Herr Hardy, and the walk will do you good. Go by all means."