There was a strong contrast between Hardy's rooms in his own home and the single little room he had occupied in Denmark, and Karl said so.
"Yes," said Hardy; "you will find a good deal of difference between England and Denmark, but you will find me the same John Hardy."
"I have not dressed, mother," said Hardy, as he came down just before the gong was struck for dinner; "my young Danish friend is not supplied with evening dress, and I thought he might feel a trifle less strange, where everything must strike with the force of novelty a lad of seventeen, if I appeared as he has usually seen me."
"You are the same thoughtful, considerate old John," said his mother, proud of her son's kind heart; "but I do think, John, you look better than when you left."
"I am better," said John. "The fare at the little Danish parsonage was simple and good. At first I missed a few things that I was accustomed to here, but the excellence of the quality of everything at the Pastor's soon made me forget them. I think, too, my mother, I have learnt much. The simplicity with which the Danish Pastor did his work with exact conscientiousness interested me. There was never a thought of postponing a duty under any circumstances. There was never a thought that a duty done was a sacrifice of self, but his duty was done with a serious singleness of purpose and thorough trust in God, that had a strong influence on his parishioners. They saw he was sincere and true."
"You are drawing a good picture of the Pastor, John," said his mother; "but," she added in a whisper, as John took her into dinner, "what about the Scandinavian princess?"
"I will tell you all about her after you have seen her photograph," said John. "I will give it you when you go into the library after dinner. I will give Karl Lindal some English to read, as he must lose no time in acquiring the language."
Karl Lindal felt awkward and uneasy at dinner. The novelty of everything so occupied him that he was the more gauche in manner. This Mrs. Hardy observed, and said little to him. It was best the lad should be left to get over the change that had impressed him.
When John Hardy joined his mother in the library, he found her with a large reading-glass, looking at Helga Lindal's photograph. "It is a good face, John, like her brother somewhat, and fine features," said his mother. "Is she tall?"
"About five feet eight, mother," replied John. "She is like her father in character—simple and true, and with common sense."