"Many a one
Owes to his country his religion,
And in another, would as strongly grow
Had but his mother or his nurse taught him so."
The Complete Angler.

The church at Vandstrup lay on rising ground from the river. It was white-washed, covered with red tiles, and surrounded by a white-washed wall enclosing God's acre, in which so many slept the last long sleep. There were a few poplars planted close to the church-yard wall, and a few weather-beaten ash trees, with a single dwarfed weeping willow over a grave. On Sunday, John Hardy watched with interest the church-going people collecting by the church gate. The men in dark Wadmel jackets with bright buttons, and the women with red ribands bound on their caps and knitted sleeves. The women left their wooden shoes in the dry ditch by the roadside, and put on leather shoes, and waited for the Pastor's arrival. Accuracy of time was not expected, and only when the Pastor appeared did the men throng into the church on one side and the women on the other. The interior of the church was simple to a degree. John Hardy with Karl and Axel sat on the men's side, and FrØken Helga and Kirstin on the other. The service was similar to that of the English Protestant service, although relics of what would be now called Romanism remained. There were candles on the altar, and the Pastor chanted some portion of the service. John Hardy longed for the sermon. The thorough honest feeling exhibited by the Pastor's character in his home, with his evident refinement and education, had excited his curiosity as to what the sermon would be.

The text of the sermon was from the fifth chapter of St. Matthew, part of ver. 42: "Give to him that asketh thee!"

"When a man comes and asks anything of you, what should you give? The best thing is sympathy and love; material gifts he may want, but these kindliness will dictate, and kindliness is the real gold of life. If no power exists to give what is necessary to assist your neighbour in a material sense, yet to your ability give; and if you give at all, give kindly. Those of you who want not material things, yet may want kind sympathy when God smiteth with sorrow. Recollect, then, that that is the time for kindliness to be proved that is golden."

This was the epitome of the sermon, and John Hardy could not hear a sound in the church, so intently was it listened to. "I could understand your sermon, Herr Pastor," said Hardy; "it was preached in such simple Danish, and I liked it. But what interested me was the earnestness with which you were listened to: every word was heard by every one of your congregation, and I could see felt."

"It was not always so," said Pastor Lindal. "I have won the sympathy and friendship of the children of my parish by years of work amongst them. The character of the Jutland people is suspicious—there is a strange mixture of shrewdness and stolidity; they are slow to appreciate, but when once their sympathy is won, they are fast friends. It is impossible for a sermon to have any effect without you have won their friendship on other days than Sundays."

John Hardy said nothing, but he thought that the application was true to other lands than Denmark, particularly England.

The Pastor had to perform another service at an Annex Kirke (a subsidiary church), and left after a short meal to do so. FrØken Helga went to her room, and Karl and Axel implored Hardy to go fishing; but he refused. "It is not right to do so," he said; "we have to keep the Sunday, and fishing is not keeping the Sunday."

"But everybody does here, and more than, other days," said Karl.

"That may be," said Hardy; "but I cannot do what I do not think is right." Kirstin was present and heard this conversation, and it met her evident approval. She told the boys that the Englishman must not be teased on a Sunday, that he might wish to read his Bible, and that he must not be disturbed. The boys left the room in bad humour.

"Kirstin," said Hardy, "my being here will, I dare say, give you more trouble, and I wish to recognize it. I am an Englishman accustomed to many servants, and may be careless of what trouble I give. You must not judge me by what is the custom in Denmark. Here is forty kroner; will you kindly give what you think fit to others in the house, and keep the rest yourself?"

"No," said Kirstin, "I will have no money. Herr Pastor says you will pay for your stay here by teaching, and it rests with him; also it is too much."

Hardy had to pocket his money again with a dissatisfied look, but Kirstin understood him; and his face, on which nature had written "gentleman," and which she had closely observed since Hardy's arrival, appealed to her.

"I have seen the gentleman," said Kirstin, "look at FrØken Helga, and I will tell the gentleman something that may serve him. FrØken Helga can never marry. Her duty is to her father and her brothers, and she knows and feels that."

John Hardy was not in love with FrØken Helga; but yet this simple Jutland peasant had divined what might occur, and had forewarned him. The explanation of Helga's conduct towards him was clear. He saw that she daily visited the people in the parish, and told the Pastor what was necessary to tell him, and that her usefulness in the parsonage and in every corner of it was a want that she filled. Kirstin understood all this, and saw that it could not be interrupted without a breach of duty.

John Hardy went to his room, and did not come out of it until they were all assembled that Sunday evening in the little dining-room.

The Pastor was tired, but very conversational; and when his great porcelain pipe had been filled as usual by Helga with Kanaster, he said, "I was struck by your evident interest in our service; but I was pleased to hear that you refused to go fishing with Karl and Axel, because the sabbath should be kept. Now, we have not that view, although it is the best view; and I say frankly that if you had taken the boys fishing, I should have not objected; but you said you felt it was not right, and I honour the thought. There is with us in Denmark a strong feeling against the Established Church, and a political question arose some years ago which will well illustrate it. On the 7th of January, 1868, a bill was brought before our Lower House of Parliament as to military service, and the question was raised whether theological candidates should be eligible for military service. The issue was raised in the Lower House of Representatives and fought there. It then passed into the Higher House of Representatives, and was fought there. The strife was long and intensely bitter, the greater part of the population of Denmark becoming partisans for or partisans against the clerical party. After the fight in the Higher House, it was again referred to the Lower, and refought there, and so again to the Higher House, with two interludes of appeals to the country. The clerical party described the position of the clergy in a florid style. They declaimed that poets and painters had represented the life of a Danish priest as a beautiful idyl, each scene in relative harmony with surrounding nature, whose heart is not touched as wandering in the path-fields he hears the bells of the country church ringing in the morning of the sabbath. How lovely is the little white church, with its red roof and quaint gables, amidst its woods and meadows! The little parsonage standing in its own garden, with a little belt of trees close to the church, while around it flock the little country houses, as a hen gathers her chickens. Nothing is more exquisite than the perfect affection and peace that exists between the country clergyman and his congregation. He is the teacher of the young, the comforter of the old, in each house a welcome guest, and the estimation in which his holy calling is held invests him with respect. In spiritual need or worldly care every one of his congregation hasten to their minister. He is the curer of souls, adviser, father, friend. The homes of his flock are his own, and it is his pride to confer happiness and promote contentment."

"That is a bright picture," said Hardy.

"Yes," said Pastor Lindal; "but the opposite party drew another, which attracted many partisans. They said his reverence has a good time of it. He has a house which is better than a Danish farmer's, and a farm which is just as good. He has horses, cows, pigs, sheep, and poultry. He has, moreover, tithes and dues of many kinds; and besides these, it is necessary to stick a dollar in his fist whenever one must make use of him. Whilst the Danish farmer has to sweat behind his plough, the clergyman sits at his ease smoking his pipe in his study, and has nothing more to do than to preach on a Sunday, and to hear the children read once a week. Everything that is congenial to the taste of the Danish farmer, the clergyman turns up his nose at. He abuses the leaders of the people, and only reads conservative newspapers, and on election days he votes against all his parish. The farmer maintains and pays him, but his conviction is that he is better than any farmer. What, therefore, can be more stiff-necked of him than to refuse to serve his country with his own, reverend person? Off with his black coat and clap on a red, and let the corporal teach him. He is a learned fellow, but, doubtless, stupid at drill."

"That last," said Hardy, "is a reference to Holberg's play of 'Erasmus Montanus.'" "Yes," said Pastor Lindal; "and it amused the country. But they got hold of another idea, and tore it to shreds: they said if the flock goes to war, the shepherd should not be absent. The result, however, was that theological candidates are liable to military service, and it makes a difference of possibly twenty men yearly. It, however, proves one thing, and that is, the Lower House had got hold of the clerical gown, and were determined, with bull-dog tenacity, to rend it."

"A similar question in England," said Hardy, "would have produced the same result."

"That I can well believe," said the Pastor; "but with you a congregation can be sold to the highest bidder, and is. There is no thought in England of adjusting the payment for church work to the work done, and so long as this exists it is a dangerous feature."

"Without doubt," said Hardy.

Before going to bed, Hardy said to FrØken Helga, "Good night," as he had done on previous nights, without more than a bow; but to his surprise she held out her hand, and said—

"Thank you, Herr Hardy; I have rarely seen my father so interested to talk with any one, and it is kind of you to interest him."

"It is the contrary, FrØken Helga; he interests me," said Hardy.