"The place is well suited for such fellows," observed the drost; "but hitherto, this spot has been secure enough. My brave warden Tygé is not to be trifled with. Do you see the old wheel on Daugberg-Daas? It still stands there, as a grave warning to rievers and highwaymen. The wood would better suit such gentry; but, there, old Henner Friser is on the outlook."
"Henner Friser!" repeated Skirmen, in astonishment: "is he here?"
"It is true, indeed. You should not have known it, Skirmen; but you can be silent. You may remember that he killed a royal squire in self-defence; and, to be out of the way of trouble on that account, he is attached to one of my hunting-seats."
"Which, sir? That of Finnerup?"
"Well, then, since you have guessed so much, he resides there. But you must be silent on the subject."
"I understand you, sir," replied Skirmen, highly delighted: "I shall take care not to bring the brave old man and the pretty little Aasé into trouble. But had they not better leave the hunting-seat for the next few days? How easily the king and his huntsmen might discover them! And, should that cursed coxcomb, Rané, meet them--"
"Skirmen," replied the drost, "you are more circumspect than I. To-morrow, betimes, you can ride over and warn them."
"Thanks, sir, thanks!" exclaimed Skirmen, jigging gaily in his saddle.
They now entered a little plantation of young beeches and poplars. Twilight descended, but they could still see the tall white trees.
"I scarcely know my little Kjælderriis again," said the drost: "see how proud my poplars are grown."