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Chap. XXX.
CHAIX OF LAKES.
35
Endless are the traditions of this wild half-unknown
country. On the moor near Silkeborg once stood a
large square stone, inscribed with Runic characters,
illegible to the most wise, even to the witches of the
country. The peasants saw it and revered,
regarding it with a superstitious dread; for beneath lay hid
a treasure of solid gold, the size and weight of a
full-grown Jutlander (18 stone, or thereabouts). One day a
stranger herdsman laid his tether on it; the stone sank
deep into the morass and disappeared, but not for ever,
for the wise women say that in some future time, when
Denmark’s king shall be a prisoner in a foreign land,
the stone will reappear, and the treasure be found,—
a king’s ransom.
We now string on the Knud Sø—last week all
wavelets, to-day calm and unruffled—and next come Rye
Mølle Sø and the Rye mills (pronounce it Reu), where
once a cloister stood, oft honoured by the presence of
King Christopher, who loved to hunt the wild boar in
this neighbourhood. Old folks will still tell you tales of
ravening wolves, and show you the pits for wild boars :
races both long since extinct. Now come the Ves Sø
and the Guden Sø, and then in the distance, not visible
to the eye, links on the Mos Sø, our old acquaintance,
full of fish; later comes Skanderborg. Our chain is
now complete—twelve lake eggs on one thread of waters;
a very pretty collection, is it not ?
After one last glance we bid adieu to
Himmelbjerg, and, stopping one moment at the old eastern
well to draw a draught of water, drive home through the
heath and forest Only look how the dormice scamper
among the ferns, wide awake, for to-day is the longest
day, and that day dedicated to St Vitus. Old style it
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