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76
HADSUND.
Chap. XXXIV.
more heartless—“ Stuff and nonsense!” they replied to
the prayers of the helpless victims. “ Go ” (not as
men say now, to the–––■, but ) “ to Maria Kilde, and
you’ll soon be all right again.”
Our landlord proposed a visit to Hor-høi, situated
behind the Munksholm wood, the burial-place of King
Hor, a sovereign unmentioned even in the most lying
of Danish chronicles.
We did not go, having passed it the morning of
our arrival; from its summit you can count on a clear
day upwards of fifty church-towers, proving the flatness
of the adjacent country.
HADSUND.
June 27 th.—The sun is high in the heavens; the
horses are ordered at four; we still linger, unwilling
to quit so fair a scene, but an eight hours’ journey lies
before us to Aalborg, and we have had a dose of night
travelling and losing ourselves. We have the choice
either to go by Hobrø and the royal chaussée on to
Aalborg, or by the more intricate road to Hadsund,
and then, crossing the ferry, by Lindenborg on to our
destination. Uncured of our hatred of the electric
telegraph, we choose the latter, and drive along the
water’s edge: the green beech cap the overhanging
banks ; on the opposite side appear fine country
residences, paradises in the summer season, backed by the
ne ver-wanting forest. And now what is that ? Westop
the carriage : a stork, a black stork, fishing in the
waters—black as a raven—the first we have seen; his
dwelling-house, no doubt, in the forest hard by, for
black storks build their nests in trees, avoiding the
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