A Danish Parsonage

by John Fulford Vicary

The peculiarity of knickerbockers received much consideration, and it was a frequent question if Hardy adopted that dress for a sickness in his legs. Hardy's knowledge of farming and the management of cattle, particularly horses, was an unfailing source of conversation. There are many good horses bred in Jutland for sale in England, Germany, and Sweden. The original breed appeared to Hardy to be either Hungarian or Polish. These horses are well adapted for light carriage work; and many a horse foaled on a Jutland farm has been in a London carriage, to the considerable profit of the importer.

The evenings at the parsonage passed in conversation with the Pastor, who held a sort of tobacco parliament. Hardy was a good listener, and was anxious to perfect himself in the Danish language. Frøken Helga knitted and listened. The boys learned lessons or played games. The Pastor liked to hear his daughter sing; but it would be doing that worthy man strong injustice to say he liked the piano, which was very old and worse than worthless. It was to Hardy's ear torture to hear it in contrast with Frøken Helga's clear voice. At last he could stand it no longer, and the matter came to a crisis.

"Herr Pastor," said Hardy, "when at the exhibition of Copenhagen, of your national industry, I was much struck by the tone of a piano by a Copenhagen maker, and I have ordered one, and I shall be much indebted to you if you will allow it to be sent here until I return to England."

"There will be much extra expense attached to that plan," replied the Pastor, "and, besides, it might get injured here."

"Those considerations I am fully prepared for," said Hardy; "but if I may take the leaf from my mouth, as you Danes say, or speak plainly, your piano is worn out, and is spoiling Frøken Helga's ear and taste for music. Her voice is excellent, and rings as clearly as a silver bell; but then the jingle of the piano is like the toothache."

"We are all accustomed to it," said the Pastor; "but I only hear Helga's voice."

So the piano appeared, and a man to tune it, and Frøken Helga played it. The tone was good, and the Pastor listened to the old Danish songs he had heard so many times with delight.

One evening Helga had to make a visit to a sick woman, and the Pastor puffed away at his teacup of a pipe, with longer puffs than usual. Hardy saw there was something in the way, and at last it struck him that he missed his daughter's song. He had once told Hardy that her voice was like her mother's.

Hardy sat down to the piano, and played and sang an English ballad, and then another. He then sang a plaintive German song, with a manly pathos and taste, that showed the well-bred gentleman he was.

The Pastor applauded loudly, and Hardy turned round, and, lo! there was Frøken Helga, with a look on her face that Hardy never forgot, so intense was her surprise.