Valdemar's eyes looked far beyond the disembarking crowds landing at the pier. He saw only the dark pine trees in the distance, straight and tall, suggesting to his imaginative mind giant masts for Viking ships. Many a fine day had he spent tramping through those tree-shaded walks with his mother, while she told him wonderful stories about Denmark's great heroes of old.
"In America, we like to go to the woods, too," said Karl; "but not just to walk and walk all day. We like to play ball, or climb the trees for nuts, or keep doing something all the time. Do you ever do anything but just walk, in your woods?"
"Sometimes, on a warm summer's evening in the woods, we sing some beautiful old hymn, like Grundtwig's:
"'For Danes have their home where the fair beeches grow,
By shores where forget-me-nots cluster,
And fairest to us, by cradle and grave,
The blossoming field by the swift-flowing wave.'
There are no people in all the world, Karl, who have the same simple love for their trees, as do the Danes," explained his Aunt Else.
"There, Karl, we are starting again," said Valdemar.
The beautiful Deer Park, with its masses and pyramids of green foliage, followed the Sound-Shore for five miles before the steamer had left it behind. The boat kept close to the shore, stopping frequently at the little, red-roofed settlements, inviting little villas and sea-bathing resorts, to let off more passengers, for everybody in Copenhagen who can, must lie on the Strandvej for at least a part of every summer, enjoying the out-of-doors amusements, the bathing, the woods, sea, sky and sunshine. Nestling among the trees of the Strandvej, for miles, were little white, yellow, and green villas, among them Fru Ingemann's,—at the sight of which Karen, who always felt a little sick on the water, brightened, and exclaimed:
"There, Karl, is ours! You must come back and spend another summer with us up there. We do have the best times, don't we, Valdemar?"
The afternoon was singularly fine. Hundreds of ships were gliding silently past them in one continuous procession.
"Why," exclaimed Karl, "there must be the flags of every nation on the globe. I've counted the Russian, German, French, English, Swedish, Norwegian, Italian, Greek, Spanish and Portuguese flags, and, look!—there is a steamer with our dear old United States flag! How narrow the sound is growing, Aunt Else. The mountains of Sweden look nearer and nearer. I believe that, if I yelled loud enough, the people over there could easily hear me."