IB AND LITTLE CHRISTINA
    
    
        IN the forest that extends from the banks of the Gudenau,
    in North Jutland, a long way into the country, and not far
    from the clear stream, rises a great ridge of land, which
    stretches through the wood like a wall. Westward of this
    ridge, and not far from the river, stands a farmhouse,
    surrounded by such poor land that the sandy soil shows itself
    between the scanty ears of rye and wheat which grow in it.
    Some years have passed since the people who lived here
    cultivated these fields; they kept three sheep, a pig, and two
    oxen; in fact they maintained themselves very well, they had
    quite enough to live upon, as people generally have who are
    content with their lot. They even could have afforded to keep
    two horses, but it was a saying among the farmers in those
    parts, "The horse eats himself up;" that is to say, he eats as
    much as he earns. Jeppe Jans cultivated his fields in summer,
    and in the winter he made wooden shoes. He also had an
    assistant, a lad who understood as well as he himself did how
    to make wooden shoes strong, but light, and in the fashion.
    They carved shoes and spoons, which paid well; therefore no
    one could justly call Jeppe Jans and his family poor people.
    Little Ib, a boy of seven years old and the only child, would
    sit by, watching the workmen, or cutting a stick, and
    sometimes his finger instead of the stick. But one day Ib
    succeeded so well in his carving that he made two pieces of
    wood look really like two little wooden shoes, and he
    determined to give them as a present to Little Christina.
    
        "And who was Little Christina?" She was the boatman's
    daughter, graceful and delicate as the child of a gentleman;
    had she been dressed differently, no one would have believed
    that she lived in a hut on the neighboring heath with her
    father. He was a widower, and earned his living by carrying
    firewood in his large boat from the forest to the eel-pond and
    eel-weir, on the estate of Silkborg, and sometimes even to the
    distant town of Randers. There was no one under whose care he
    could leave Little Christina; so she was almost always with
    him in his boat, or playing in the wood among the blossoming
    heath, or picking the ripe wild berries. Sometimes, when her
    father had to go as far as the town, he would take Little
    Christina, who was a year younger than Ib, across the heath to
    the cottage of Jeppe Jans, and leave her there. Ib and
    Christina agreed together in everything; they divided their
    bread and berries when they were hungry; they were partners in
    digging their little gardens; they ran, and crept, and played
    about everywhere. Once they wandered a long way into the
    forest, and even ventured together to climb the high ridge.
    Another time they found a few snipes' eggs in the wood, which
    was a great event. Ib had never been on the heath where
    Christina's father lived, nor on the river; but at last came
    an opportunity. Christina's father invited him to go for a
    sail in his boat; and the evening before, he accompanied the
    boatman across the heath to his house. The next morning early,
    the two children were placed on the top of a high pile of
    firewood in the boat, and sat eating bread and wild
    strawberries, while Christina's father and his man drove the
    boat forward with poles. They floated on swiftly, for the tide
    was in their favor, passing over lakes, formed by the stream
    in its course; sometimes they seemed quite enclosed by reeds
    and water-plants, yet there was always room for them to pass
    out, although the old trees overhung the water and the old
    oaks stretched out their bare branches, as if they had turned
    up their sleeves and wished to show their knotty, naked arms.
    Old alder-trees, whose roots were loosened from the banks,
    clung with their fibres to the bottom of the stream, and the
    tops of the branches above the water looked like little woody
    islands. The water-lilies waved themselves to and fro on the
    river, everything made the excursion beautiful, and at last
    they came to the great eel-weir, where the water rushed
    through the flood-gates; and the children thought this a
    beautiful sight. In those days there was no factory nor any
    town house, nothing but the great farm, with its
    scanty-bearing fields, in which could be seen a few herd of
    cattle, and one or two farm laborers. The rushing of the water
    through the sluices, and the scream of the wild ducks, were
    almost the only signs of active life at Silkborg. After the
    firewood had been unloaded, Christina's father bought a whole
    bundle of eels and a sucking-pig, which were all placed in a
    basket in the stern of the boat. Then they returned again up
    the stream; and as the wind was favorable, two sails were
    hoisted, which carried the boat on as well as if two horses
    had been harnessed to it. As they sailed on, they came by
    chance to the place where the boatman's assistant lived, at a
    little distance from the bank of the river. The boat was
    moored; and the two men, after desiring the children to sit
    still, both went on shore. they obeyed this order for a very
    short time, and then forgot it altogether. First they peeped
    into the basket containing the eels and the sucking-pig; then
    they must needs pull out the pig and take it in their hands,
    and feel it, and touch it; and as they both wanted to hold it
    at the same time, the consequence was that they let it fall
    into the water, and the pig sailed away with the stream.
    
        Here was a terrible disaster. Ib jumped ashore, and ran a
    little distance from the boat.
    
        "Oh, take me with you," cried Christina; and she sprang
    after him. In a few minutes they found themselves deep in a
    thicket, and could no longer see the boat or the shore. They
    ran on a little farther, and then Christina fell down, and
    began to cry.
    
        Ib helped her up, and said, "Never mind; follow me. Yonder
    is the house." But the house was not yonder; and they wandered
    still farther, over the dry rustling leaves of the last year,
    and treading on fallen branches that crackled under their
    little feet; then they heard a loud, piercing cry, and they
    stood still to listen. Presently the scream of an eagle
    sounded through the wood; it was an ugly cry, and it
    frightened the children; but before them, in the thickest part
    of the forest, grew the most beautiful blackberries, in
    wonderful quantities. They looked so inviting that the
    children could not help stopping; and they remained there so
    long eating, that their mouths and cheeks became quite black
    with the juice.
    
        Presently they heard the frightful scream again, and
    Christina said, "We shall get into trouble about that pig."
    
        "Oh, never mind," said Ib; "we will go home to my father's
    house. It is here in the wood." So they went on, but the road
    led them out of the way; no house could be seen, it grew dark,
    and the children were afraid. The solemn stillness that
    reigned around them was now and then broken by the shrill
    cries of the great horned owl and other birds that they knew
    nothing of. At last they both lost themselves in the thicket;
    Christina began to cry, and then Ib cried too; and, after
    weeping and lamenting for some time, they stretched themselves
    down on the dry leaves and fell asleep.
    
        The sun was high in the heavens when the two children
    woke. They felt cold; but not far from their resting-place, on
    a hill, the sun was shining through the trees. They thought if
    they went there they should be warm, and Ib fancied he should
    be able to see his father's house from such a high spot. But
    they were far away from home now, in quite another part of the
    forest. They clambered to the top of the rising ground, and
    found themselves on the edge of a declivity, which sloped down
    to a clear transparent lake. Great quantities of fish could be
    seen through the clear water, sparkling in the sun's rays;
    they were quite surprised when they came so suddenly upon such
    an unexpected sight.
    
        Close to where they stood grew a hazel-bush, covered with
    beautiful nuts. They soon gathered some, cracked them, and ate
    the fine young kernels, which were only just ripe. But there
    was another surprise and fright in store for them. Out of the
    thicket stepped a tall old woman, her face quite brown, and
    her hair of a deep shining black; the whites of her eyes
    glittered like a Moor's; on her back she carried a bundle, and
    in her hand a knotted stick. She was a gypsy. The children did
    not at first understand what she said. She drew out of her
    pocket three large nuts, in which she told them were hidden
    the most beautiful and lovely things in the world, for they
    were wishing nuts. Ib looked at her, and as she spoke so
    kindly, he took courage, and asked her if she would give him
    the nuts; and the woman gave them to him, and then gathered
    some more from the bushes for herself, quite a pocket full. Ib
    and Christina looked at the wishing nuts with wide open eyes.
    
        "Is there in this nut a carriage, with a pair of horses?"
    asked Ib.
    
        "Yes, there is a golden carriage, with two golden horses,"
    replied the woman.
    
        "Then give me that nut," said Christina; so Ib gave it to
    her, and the strange woman tied up the nut for her in her
    handkerchief.
    
        Ib held up another nut. "Is there, in this nut, a pretty
    little neckerchief like the one Christina has on her neck?"
    asked Ib.
    
        "There are ten neckerchiefs in it," she replied, "as well
    as beautiful dresses, stockings, and a hat and veil."
    
        "Then I will have that one also," said Christina; "and it
    is a pretty one too. And then Ib gave her the second nut.
    
        The third was a little black thing. "You may keep that
    one," said Christina; "it is quite as pretty."
    
        "What is in it?" asked Ib.
    
        "The best of all things for you," replied the gypsy. So Ib
    held the nut very tight.
    
        Then the woman promised to lead the children to the right
    path, that they might find their way home: and they went
    forward certainly in quite another direction to the one they
    meant to take; therefore no one ought to speak against the
    woman, and say that she wanted to steal the children. In the
    wild wood-path they met a forester who knew Ib, and, by his
    help, Ib and Christina reached home, where they found every
    one had been very anxious about them. They were pardoned and
    forgiven, although they really had both done wrong, and
    deserved to get into trouble; first, because they had let the
    sucking-pig fall into the water; and, secondly, because they
    had run away. Christina was taken back to her father's house
    on the heath, and Ib remained in the farm-house on the borders
    of the wood, near the great land ridge.
    
        The first thing Ib did that evening was to take out of his
    pocket the little black nut, in which the best thing of all
    was said to be enclosed. He laid it carefully between the door
    and the door-post, and then shut the door so that the nut
    cracked directly. But there was not much kernel to be seen; it
    was what we should call hollow or worm-eaten, and looked as if
    it had been filled with tobacco or rich black earth. "It is
    just what I expected!" exclaimed Ib. "How should there be room
    in a little nut like this for the best thing of all? Christina
    will find her two nuts just the same; there will be neither
    fine clothes or a golden carriage in them."
    
        Winter came; and the new year, and indeed many years
    passed away; until Ib was old enough to be confirmed, and,
    therefore, he went during a whole winter to the clergyman of
    the nearest village to be prepared.
    
        One day, about this time, the boatman paid a visit to Ib's
    parents, and told them that Christina was going to service,
    and that she had been remarkably fortunate in obtaining a good
    place, with most respectable people. "Only think," he said,
    "She is going to the rich innkeeper's, at the hotel in
    Herning, many miles west from here. She is to assist the
    landlady in the housekeeping; and, if afterwards she behaves
    well and remains to be confirmed, the people will treat her as
    their own daughter."
    
        So Ib and Christina took leave of each other. People
    already called them "the betrothed," and at parting the girl
    showed Ib the two nuts, which she had taken care of ever since
    the time that they lost themselves in the wood; and she told
    him also that the little wooden shoes he once carved for her
    when he was a boy, and gave her as a present, had been
    carefully kept in a drawer ever since. And so they parted.
    
        After Ib's confirmation, he remained at home with his
    mother, for he had become a clever shoemaker, and in summer
    managed the farm for her quite alone. His father had been dead
    some time, and his mother kept no farm servants. Sometimes,
    but very seldom, he heard of Christina, through a postillion
    or eel-seller who was passing. But she was well off with the
    rich innkeeper; and after being confirmed she wrote a letter
    to her father, in which was a kind message to Ib and his
    mother. In this letter, she mentioned that her master and
    mistress had made her a present of a beautiful new dress, and
    some nice under-clothes. This was, of course, pleasant news.
    
        One day, in the following spring, there came a knock at
    the door of the house where Ib's old mother lived; and when
    they opened it, lo and behold, in stepped the boatman and
    Christina. She had come to pay them a visit, and to spend the
    day. A carriage had to come from the Herning hotel to the next
    village, and she had taken the opportunity to see her friends
    once more. She looked as elegant as a real lady, and wore a
    pretty dress, beautifully made on purpose for her. There she
    stood, in full dress, while Ib wore only his working clothes.
    He could not utter a word; he could only seize her hand and
    hold it fast in his own, but he felt too happy and glad to
    open his lips. Christina, however, was quite at her ease; she
    talked and talked, and kissed him in the most friendly manner.
    Even afterwards, when they were left alone, and she asked,
    "Did you know me again, Ib?" he still stood holding her hand,
    and said at last, "You are become quite a grand lady,
    Christina, and I am only a rough working man; but I have often
    thought of you and of old times." Then they wandered up the
    great ridge, and looked across the stream to the heath, where
    the little hills were covered with the flowering broom. Ib
    said nothing; but before the time came for them to part, it
    became quite clear to him that Christina must be his wife: had
    they not even in childhood been called the betrothed? To him
    it seemed as if they were really engaged to each other,
    although not a word had been spoken on the subject. They had
    only a few more hours to remain together, for Christina was
    obliged to return that evening to the neighboring village, to
    be ready for the carriage which was to start the next morning
    early for Herning. Ib and her father accompanied her to the
    village. It was a fine moonlight evening; and when they
    arrived, Ib stood holding Christina's hand in his, as if he
    could not let her go. His eyes brightened, and the words he
    uttered came with hesitation from his lips, but from the
    deepest recesses of his heart: "Christina, if you have not
    become too grand, and if you can be contented to live in my
    mother's house as my wife, we will be married some day. But we
    can wait for a while."
    
        "Oh yes," she replied; "Let us wait a little longer, Ib. I
    can trust you, for I believe that I do love you. But let me
    think it over." Then he kissed her lips; and so they parted.
    
        On the way home, Ib told the boatman that he and Christina
    were as good as engaged to each other; and the boatman found
    out that he had always expected it would be so, and went home
    with Ib that evening, and remained the night in the farmhouse;
    but nothing further was said of the engagement. During the
    next year, two letters passed between Ib and Christina. They
    were signed, "Faithful till death;" but at the end of that
    time, one day the boatman came over to see Ib, with a kind
    greeting from Christina. He had something else to say, which
    made him hesitate in a strange manner. At last it came out
    that Christina, who had grown a very pretty girl, was more
    lucky than ever. She was courted and admired by every one; but
    her master's son, who had been home on a visit, was so much
    pleased with Christina that he wished to marry her. He had a
    very good situation in an office at Copenhagen, and as she had
    also taken a liking for him, his parents were not unwilling to
    consent. But Christina, in her heart, often thought of Ib, and
    knew how much he thought of her; so she felt inclined to
    refuse this good fortune, added the boatman. At first Ib said
    not a word, but he became as white as the wall, and shook his
    head gently, and then he spoke,- "Christina must not refuse
    this good fortune."
    
        "Then will you write a few words to her?" said the
    boatman.
    
        Ib sat down to write, but he could not get on at all. The
    words were not what he wished to say, so he tore up the page.
    The following morning, however, a letter lay ready to be sent
    to Christina, and the following is what he wrote:-
    
        "The letter written by you to your father I have read, and
    see from it that you are prosperous in everything, and that
    still better fortune is in store for you. Ask your own heart,
    Christina, and think over carefully what awaits you if you
    take me for your husband, for I possess very little in the
    world. Do not think of me or of my position; think only of
    your own welfare. You are bound to me by no promises; and if
    in your heart you have given me one, I release you from it.
    May every blessing and happiness be poured out upon you,
    Christina. Heaven will give me the heart's consolation.
    
                                           Ever your sincere
    friend, IB."
    
    
        This letter was sent, and Christina received it in due
    time. In the course of the following November, her banns were
    published in the church on the heath, and also in Copenhagen,
    where the bridegroom lived. She was taken to Copenhagen under
    the protection of her future mother-in-law, because the
    bridegroom could not spare time from his numerous occupations
    for a journey so far into Jutland. On the journey, Christina
    met her father at one of the villages through which they
    passed, and here he took leave of her. Very little was said
    about the matter to Ib, and he did not refer to it; his
    mother, however, noticed that he had grown very silent and
    pensive. Thinking as he did of old times, no wonder the three
    nuts came into his mind which the gypsy woman had given him
    when a child, and of the two which he had given to Christina.
    These wishing nuts, after all, had proved true
    fortune-tellers. One had contained a gilded carriage and noble
    horses, and the other beautiful clothes; all of these
    Christina would now have in her new home at Copenhagen. Her
    part had come true. And for him the nut had contained only
    black earth. The gypsy woman had said it was the best for him.
    Perhaps it was, and this also would be fulfilled. He
    understood the gypsy woman's meaning now. The black earth- the
    dark grave- was the best thing for him now.
    
        Again years passed away; not many, but they seemed long
    years to Ib. The old innkeeper and his wife died one after the
    other; and the whole of their property, many thousand dollars,
    was inherited by their son. Christina could have the golden
    carriage now, and plenty of fine clothes. During the two long
    years which followed, no letter came from Christina to her
    father; and when at last her father received one from her, it
    did not speak of prosperity or happiness. Poor Christina!
    Neither she nor her husband understood how to economize or
    save, and the riches brought no blessing with them, because
    they had not asked for it.
    
        Years passed; and for many summers the heath was covered
    with bloom; in winter the snow rested upon it, and the rough
    winds blew across the ridge under which stood Ib's sheltered
    home. One spring day the sun shone brightly, and he was
    guiding the plough across his field. The ploughshare struck
    against something which he fancied was a firestone, and then
    he saw glittering in the earth a splinter of shining metal
    which the plough had cut from something which gleamed brightly
    in the furrow. He searched, and found a large golden armlet of
    superior workmanship, and it was evident that the plough had
    disturbed a Hun's grave. He searched further, and found more
    valuable treasures, which Ib showed to the clergyman, who
    explained their value to him. Then he went to the magistrate,
    who informed the president of the museum of the discovery, and
    advised Ib to take the treasures himself to the president.
    
        "You have found in the earth the best thing you could
    find," said the magistrate.
    
        "The best thing," thought Ib; "the very best thing for
    me,- and found in the earth! Well, if it really is so, then
    the gypsy woman was right in her prophecy."
    
        So Ib went in the ferry-boat from Aarhus to Copenhagen. To
    him who had only sailed once or twice on the river near his
    own home, this seemed like a voyage on the ocean; and at
    length he arrived at Copenhagen. The value of the gold he had
    found was paid to him; it was a large sum- six hundred
    dollars. Then Ib of the heath went out, and wandered about in
    the great city.
    
        On the evening before the day he had settled to return
    with the captain of the passage-boat, Ib lost himself in the
    streets, and took quite a different turning to the one he
    wished to follow. He wandered on till he found himself in a
    poor street of the suburb called Christian's Haven. Not a
    creature could be seen. At last a very little girl came out of
    one of the wretched-looking houses, and Ib asked her to tell
    him the way to the street he wanted; she looked up timidly at
    him, and began to cry bitterly. He asked her what was the
    matter; but what she said he could not understand. So he went
    along the street with her; and as they passed under a lamp,
    the light fell on the little girl's face. A strange sensation
    came over Ib, as he caught sight of it. The living, breathing
    embodiment of Little Christina stood before him, just as he
    remembered her in the days of her childhood. He followed the
    child to the wretched house, and ascended the narrow, crazy
    staircase which led to a little garret in the roof. The air in
    the room was heavy and stifling, no light was burning, and
    from one corner came sounds of moaning and sighing. It was the
    mother of the child who lay there on a miserable bed. With the
    help of a match, Ib struck a light, and approached her.
    
        "Can I be of any service to you?" he asked. "This little
    girl brought me up here; but I am a stranger in this city. Are
    there no neighbors or any one whom I can call?"
    
        Then he raised the head of the sick woman, and smoothed
    her pillow. He started as he did so. It was Christina of the
    heath! No one had mentioned her name to Ib for years; it would
    have disturbed his peace of mind, especially as the reports
    respecting her were not good. The wealth which her husband had
    inherited from his parents had made him proud and arrogant. He
    had given up his certain appointment, and travelled for six
    months in foreign lands, and, on his return, had lived in
    great style, and got into terrible debt. For a time he had
    trembled on the high pedestal on which he had placed himself,
    till at last he toppled over, and ruin came. His numerous
    merry companions, and the visitors at his table, said it
    served him right, for he had kept house like a madman. One
    morning his corpse was found in the canal. The cold hand of
    death had already touched the heart of Christina. Her youngest
    child, looked for in the midst of prosperity, had sunk into
    the grave when only a few weeks old; and at last Christina
    herself became sick unto death, and lay, forsaken and dying,
    in a miserable room, amid poverty she might have borne in her
    younger days, but which was now more painful to her from the
    luxuries to which she had lately been accustomed. It was her
    eldest child, also a Little Christina, whom Ib had followed to
    her home, where she suffered hunger and poverty with her
    mother.
    
        It makes me unhappy to think that I shall die, and leave
    this poor child," sighed she. "Oh, what will become of her?"
    She could say no more.
    
        Then Ib brought out another match, and lighted a piece of
    candle which he found in the room, and it threw a glimmering
    light over the wretched dwelling. Ib looked at the little
    girl, and thought of Christina in her young days. For her
    sake, could he not love this child, who was a stranger to him?
    As he thus reflected, the dying woman opened her eyes, and
    gazed at him. Did she recognize him? He never knew; for not
    another word escaped her lips.
    
    
      *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *
    
    
        In the forest by the river Gudenau, not far from the
    heath, and beneath the ridge of land, stood the little farm,
    newly painted and whitewashed. The air was heavy and dark;
    there were no blossoms on the heath; the autumn winds whirled
    the yellow leaves towards the boatman's hut, in which
    strangers dwelt; but the little farm stood safely sheltered
    beneath the tall trees and the high ridge. The turf blazed
    brightly on the hearth, and within was sunlight, the sparkling
    light from the sunny eyes of a child; the birdlike tones from
    the rosy lips ringing like the song of a lark in spring. All
    was life and joy. Little Christina sat on Ib's knee. Ib was to
    her both father and mother; her own parents had vanished from
    her memory, as a dream-picture vanishes alike from childhood
    and age. Ib's house was well and prettily furnished; for he
    was a prosperous man now, while the mother of the little girl
    rested in the churchyard at Copenhagen, where she had died in
    poverty. Ib had money now- money which had come to him out of
    the black earth; and he had Christina for his own, after all.
    
    
                                THE END
    


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