thewoodenfigurethrewagiganticshadowonthewall,andevenonpartoftheceiling;itseemedasiftherealholgerdanskestoodbehindit,fortheshadowmoved;butthiswasnodoubtcausedbytheflameofthelampnotburningsteadily.thenthedaughter-in-lawkissedtheoldgrandfather,andledhimtoalargearm-chairbythetable;andshe,andherhusband,whowasthesonoftheoldmanandthefatherofthelittleboywholayinbed,satdowntosupperwithhim.andtheoldgrandfathertalkedofthedanishlionsandthedanishhearts,emblemsofstrengthandgentleness,andexplainedquiteclearlythatthereisanotherstrengththanthatwhichliesinasword,andhepointedtoashelfwherelayanumberofoldbooks,andamongstthemacollectionofholberg'splays,whicharemuchreadandaresocleverandamusingthatitiseasytofancywehaveknownthepeopleofthosedays,whoaredescribedinthem.

"heknewhowtofightalso,"saidtheoldman;"forhelashedthefolliesandprejudicesofpeopleduringhiswholelife."

thenthegrandfathernoddedtoaplaceabovethelooking-glass,wherehunganalmanac,witharepresentationoftheroundtoweruponit,andsaid"tychobrahewasanotherofthosewhousedasword,butnotonetocutintothefleshandbone,buttomakethewayofthestarsofheavenclear,andplaintobeunderstood.andthenhewhosefatherbelongedtomycalling,-yes,he,thesonoftheoldimage-carver,hewhomweourselveshaveseen,withhissilverylocksandhisbroadshoulders,whosenameisknowninalllands;-yes,hewasasculptor,whileiamonlyacarver.holgerdanskecanappearinmarble,sothatpeopleinallcountriesoftheworldmayhearofthestrengthofdenmark.nowletusdrinkthehealthofbertel."

butthelittleboyinbedsawplainlytheoldcastleofkronenburg,andthesoundofelsinore,andholgerdanske,fardowninthecellar,withhisbeardrootedtothetable,anddreamingofeverythingthatwaspassingabovehim.

andholgerdanskediddreamofthelittlehumbleroominwhichtheimage-carversat;heheardallthathadbeensaid,andhenoddedinhisdream,saying,"ah,yes,rememberme,youdanishpeople,keepmeinyourmemory,iwillcometoyouinthehourofneed."

thebrightmorninglightshoneoverkronenburg,andthewindbroughtthesoundofthehunting-hornacrossfromtheneighboringshores.theshipssailedbyandsalutedthecastlewiththeboomofthecannon,andkronenburgreturnedthesalute,"boom,boom."buttheroaringcannonsdidnotawakeholgerdanske,fortheymeantonly"goodmorning,"and"thankyou."theymustfireinanotherfashionbeforeheawakes;butwakehewill,forthereisenergyyetinholgerdanske.

theend.

1872

fairytalesofhanschristianandersen

ibandlittlechristina

byhanschristianandersen

intheforestthatextendsfromthebanksofthegudenau,innorthjutland,alongwayintothecountry,andnotfarfromtheclearstream,risesagreatridgeofland,whichstretchesthroughthewoodlikeawall.westwardofthisridge,andnotfarfromtheriver,standsafarmhouse,surroundedbysuchpoorlandthatthesandysoilshowsitselfbetweenthescantyearsofryeandwheatwhichgrowinit.someyearshavepassedsincethepeoplewholivedherecultivatedthesefields;theykeptthreesheep,apig,andtwooxen;infacttheymaintainedthemselvesverywell,theyhadquiteenoughtoliveupon,aspeoplegenerallyhavewhoarecontentwiththeiryevencouldhaveaffordedtokeeptwohorses,butitwasasayingamongthefarmersinthoseparts,"thehorseeatshimselfup;"thatistosay,heeatsasmuchasheearns.jeppejanscultivatedhisfieldsinsummer,andinthewinterhemadewoodenshoes.healsohadanassistant,aladwhounderstoodaswellashehimselfdidhowtomakewoodenshoesstrong,butlight,andinthefashion.theycarvedshoesandspoons,whichpaidwell;thereforenoonecouldjustlycalljeppejansandhisfamilypoorpeople.littleib,aboyofsevenyearsoldandtheonlychild,wouldsitby,watchingtheworkmen,orcuttingastick,andsometimeshisfingerinsteadofthestick.butonedayibsucceededsowellinhiscarvingthathemadetwopiecesofwoodlookreallyliketwolittlewoodenshoes,andhedeterminedtogivethemasapresenttolittlechristina.

"andwhowaslittlechristina?"