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I remember King George of Greece eying me from his box as
I was being transported to the door, and the rascal murderer on
the stage looking as if he had done something deserving of praise.
Outside, in the cold, my brother shook me up and took me home,
a sobered and somewhat crestfallen lad. But, anyhow, I don't like
that kind of play. I don't see why the villain on the stage is any
better than the villain on the street. There are enough of them
and to spare. And think if he _had_ killed her!
The years passed, and the day came at last when, having proved my
fitness, I received my certificate as a duly enrolled carpenter of
the guild of Copenhagen, and, dropping my tools joyfully and in
haste, made a bee-line for Ribe, where she was. I thought that
I had moved with very stealthy steps toward my goal, having grown
four years older than at the time I set the whole community by the
ears. But it could not have been so, for I had not been twenty-four
hours in town before it was all over that I had come home to propose
to Elizabeth; which was annoying but true.


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