things Lille Lilien—or Little Lily, as I generally
called her—would listen with her grave blue
eyes fixed almost wistfully upon my face, ever
and anon looking inquiringly round at her father
as if to ask—" Can this be true?"  And when the
old man nodded assent, the child would nestle
close to me, and look steadily up in my face as
she drank in every word.  I could talk to her
in English, but poor Han never picked up more
than a few sentences of our language, then, as
now, very common in Denmark.

A great change had come over my simple
friends since the insurrection in the duchies, and
the entry of the German troops.  Most of the
Fladswäst people, being Danes,were true to King
Frederick; but their loyalty did not prompt them
to any act likely to occasion the burning of their
homesteads or the pillage of their barns.  They
drank the king's health, and wished all manner
of ill to the invaders, but it was known that
Captain Bluenose had vainly used his influence
to raise a band of partisan soldiery to harass
the German outposts.  The other farmers hung
back from any rash demonstration of patriotism,
pointing out, not without much show of reason,
how hopeless would be a guerilla struggle in
such a country.

Thus it came about, as the German triumph
over the Danes grew daily more assured, the
old mariner became more and more silent and
morose, and spent hours in gloomy and bitter
thoughtfulness.  Han, who admired his father,
and accepted every opinion of his without
question or comment, once timidly offered to
enlist as a volunteer in the Danish army, and
got a grim smile of approval for his pains.  But
old Peter would not agree to the proposal.

"Thou art so calf-headed, lad, that thou
wouldst get thy simple brains knocked out in
the first skirmish," said Peter, with rough
kindliness; "Sveyn Dumfka, that the Swedes
made a ballad about, was not slower-witted than
my Han, though I know my son's heart is in
the right place. I'll not part with thee."

But Han, too, fell to thinking to an
unaccustomed extent, and I have seen his eye
kindle, and his cheek flush, many a time when I
was sitting in the great kitchen, or the Sunday
parlour at the farm, chatting with the skipper,
or coaxing Lily to sing some old Danish song
of Trolls, and Mermaidens, and gallant sea-
rovers, in the quaint language that came near to
the Icelandic itself.  Even Lilien was more
solemn than before, and often asked me if I did
not "think the Trolls would come to the help
of Denmark."  But when I laughed at the
notion of such fairy auxiliaries, Lille Lilien's
look changed to one of offended dignity, and
she rebuked me for ridiculing the Trolls.
However, neither champion nor fairy appeared
able or willing to do much for royal rule
in Schleswig, since German soldiers and volunteers
overran the country unmolested, and
the entire German population made common
cause with the invader.  Still the Danish force
in the island of Alsen, secured by the sea
(Denmark's best friend), and backed by several
armed vessels, held out firmly, and the marshy
country between Flensburg and the Baltic was
still patrolled by Danish horse.  A camp had
been formed at a place called Flaxbye, on a
swampy tongue of land nearly opposite to the
island, and in this camp were quartered the
Danish cavalry and one or two battalions of
foot, guarding a quantity of stores and material
of war, which it had not been found convenient
to remove by sea.  This camp, small as it was,
was still an eyesore to the Germans, and it would
probably have been instantly assailed, had it not
been very difficult of access.  The main road to
Flaxbye was indeed circuitous, and in more than
one place was commanded by earthworks still in
Danish keeping, while pontoons would be needed
for the passage of streams and creeks, the
bridges over which had been blown up. So
Flaxbye was left undisturbed for a little time.

M. Blenck, my worthy tutor, who would, I
believe, have taught Greek without tripping
over a tense or a particle, while Nero was
burning Rome about his ears, expressed his
mild concern that I should have grown so
inattentive and unpunctual in my studies.  But for
the life of me I could not help it.  Boy as I
was, the deep thrill that pervaded the popular
heart reached mine and made it quiver with
sympathy for the shame, the sorrow, the desperate
hopes, of those about me.  Every day
brought some fresh rumour: now that a Swedish
army was landing; now that England was
coming to the rescue; now that all Danes were
to be driven from house and home, and banished.
But nothing of much moment occurred, until
the roll of the Prussian drums was heard in
Fladswäst one fine afternoon, and I dropped my
Herodotus and Lexicon, and, snatching my hat,
ran out of the manse, deaf to my tutor's
upbraidings.

In the little market-place, under the cool
lime-trees, almost all the population of the
village had collected, while the troops had been
halted on the paved space in the middle of the
square.  I instantly guessed that some mischief
was meant.  Had it been designed merely to
disarm the people and dismiss the Amtmaun,
as had been done elsewhere, a tithe of the force
present would have sufficed.  But as it was, my
eye ranged hastily over a battalion of Prussian
infantry, a company of Jagers, and some hundreds
of riflemen belonging to the half-disciplined
Free Corps, escorted by some cavalry
and four guns.  Of the cavalry about forty, or
half a troop, were lancers, and I counted
seventy-nine hussars.  The advance of this imposing
force augured ill for the security of the
few Danes left on the mainland, and this thought
struck others, for I heard the word, "Flaxbye!
Flaxbye!" muttered all around me.

Brigadier Hahn, who commanded the column,
came forward at the head of the little knot of
officers that formed his staff, and ordered
silence, reining in his horse and holding up his
word to indicate that a speech was to be expected.
There was a dead hush; all were so