There came a day when a more than commonly ambitious excursion
was undertaken, even to the islands in the sea, some six or seven
miles from the town. The town council set out upon the journey,
with the rector of the Latin School and the burgomaster, bargaining
for dinner on their return at dusk. But it was destined that those
islands should remain undiscovered by steam and the dinner uneaten.
Barely outside, the tide left it high and dry upon the sands. It
was then those Danes showed what stuff there was in them. The water
would not be back to lift them off for six hours and more. They
indulged in no lamentations, but sturdily produced the schnapps
and sandwiches without which no Dane is easily to be tempted out
of sight of his home: the rector evolved a pack of cards from the
depths of his coat pocket, and upon the sandbank the party camped,
playing a cheerful game of whist until the tide came back and bore
them home.
The night comes on. The people are returning from their evening
constitutional, walking in the middle of the street and taking off
their hats to their neighbors as they pass.
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