After finishing their little dinner of hot cinnamon-flavored soup, broiled fish, rye bread, preserves and röd-gröd, all of which tasted so good after their drive back through the woods, they boarded the little steamer which was to take them on their all-night trip over the Kattegat to Aarhus, on the east coast of the peninsula of Jutland, or the Continent, as the Danes call it.
"Aunt Else, on one of those windows at Fredensborg, was the inscription: 'Valdemar-Marie, 1885.' Won't you tell me all about the Valdemars? They were Denmark's greatest kings, weren't they?" urged Karl.
"Yes, but Valdemar will be glad to tell you all about them and about all the other kings of Denmark, too, Karl; but wait—here comes Fróken Johanne Nielsen, with her little nephews, Tykke and Hans, to talk to us. Fróken Nielsen is a great traveller. Children, don't you remember meeting them one summer up on the Strandvej?"
Karen courtesied prettily, while the boys arose, bowed, and politely gave their seats to the Nielsens. Then Fru Ingemann listened while Fróken Johanne, who only remained a few minutes, told them of the famous sights of Stevns Klint, or cliff, on Zealand's eastern coast, where they had just been; and of the still more wonderful scenery on the romantic little island of Möen, in the Baltic, where the dazzling white limestone cliffs of Lille and the Store Klint adorn the sea-coast, and where the summer-time sunset comes after nine o'clock, and the clear northern light lasts until morning.
"And don't forget about Faxö, Aunt Johanne, or Svendborg. Faxö was the best of all," put in little Tykke, as he delved deep down into his pockets and brought forth some pieces of fine coral.
"Yes, Faxö is an ancient coral crag jutting out into the Baltic," explained Fróken Johanne. "It is full of beautiful and rare fossils, and from Svendborg, on Fyen Island, we had such a beautiful view for miles and miles. From one high place the children could see alternate land and water five times, as well as the coasts of Sweden and Germany. The islands seemed like stepping-stones in the Baltic. But come, children, say good-bye; we must go."
While they had been talking the setting sun had thrown a yellow glory over the waters in front of Elsinore, which was now fading slowly away. The forests about the old castle on the promontory became dark, blurred masses, and the white sails below were mere moving shadows. The children could no longer see even the many fine specimens of fossils and coral which Hans and Tykke had generously divided with them.
The little steamer advanced upon the rolling Kattegat, with great flocks of white-winged sea-gulls following in its wake. Fru Ingemann noticed that Karen, who never could stand the churning motion of a boat, was turning perceptibly pale, and that a vague, uncertain feeling seemed to be creeping over even Valdemar and Karl, so she took her sleepy little brood below and soon had them all tucked snugly into bed for the night.