"Stop!" he cried; "you will upset the carriage, Helga. You must not drive; you will throw down the horses."
"She has driven for the last ten miles, Herr Pastor," said Hardy.
The worthy Pastor, however, was so decided, that Hardy had to take the reins and drive into Horsens. He had telegraphed and ordered dinner at six, and drove into the hotel yard, but was scarcely prepared to find so many people collected there. They had simply come to see Buffalo, whose reputation had risen after the horse-race. They smoked, spat, criticized, and praised. "Sikken en Hest."
As they came in, Hardy gave a very necessary order to his servant, Robert Garth, namely, to get the horses' feet well washed, as the roads are so sandy.
The dinner was well served, and much praised by Pastor Lindal, who of course had a legend to relate, of Holger Danske, whose sword was buried with him near Horsens. The sword was so heavy that, when it was taken from the Kæmpehøi, or tumulus, twelve horses could not draw it. The walls of the house in which it was placed shook, and so much unhappiness occurred that the sword was restored to its resting place in the tumulus, and on its return journey two horses could draw it easily. Holger Danske was so big a man, that when he had a suit of clothes made, the tailors were obliged to use ladders to take his measure; but one day an unfortunate tailor tickled him in the ear with his scissors, and Holger Danske thought it was a flea, and squeezed him to death between his fingers."
"There were giants in those days," said Hardy.
"There is in the Kloster (cloister) Church at Horsens a hole in the wall, across which is an iron cross. Behind this a nun was walled up alive. She had, it was said, been confined of a dog. There is a stone in which a dog is figured, to preserve the recollection of so very extraordinary a circumstance, and a place is shown where her fingers marked the stone of the wall in her last agony."
"The practice of walling people up," said Hardy, "was very general in Denmark, was it not?"
"Yes, if tradition be true," said the Pastor, "which, as you know, we must receive cum grano salis. There is a story of a man walling up his woman-servant, because she cooked a cat for his dinner. He had caught a hare, but a dog had stolen it, so she cooked a cat instead. This enraged her master, and he walled her up alive."
"Thank you, Herr Pastor, for your legends," said Hardy; "but I should like to walk through the little town, and I dare say Karl and Axel would too, if we may leave you and Frøken Helga."